Changes and Choices
by Dragon's Daughter 1980
Summary: Why hasn't Terry been in Los Angeles?
1. The News

Changes and Choices

Author: Dragon's Daughter 1980

Spoilers: Just to be safe, I'm going to say "Dirty Bomb" through "Manhunt"

Pairing: Don/Terry

Disclaimer: CBS owns Numb3rs. I don't.

Author's Note: I am shocked to hear that Sabrina Lloyd has left Numb3rs. She will be missed. Good luck, Ms. Lloyd, in whatever endeavors you chose to take on. (But I really, really hope you come back… please?)

This piece wrote itself I was reading the news about Ms. Lloyd's departure. I couldn't find some pieces of information, so a few details in here might be wrong. If they are, please leave a review so I can make corrections. Thanks!

* * *

Given the early hour of the evening, the normally bustling FBI field office was unusually silent. It was a drastic change from the organized chaos of a few hours before as the Los Angeles team tracked down a wanted man on the Top Ten list. After the arrest had been made, most of the office had taken the rest of the day off, something that Don felt that they deserved after nearly four days of nonstop work. He was alone in the office as he finished up some paperwork. The McDowd case had generated an enormous amount of documentation, especially for the arresting agents. Since Bill had left town, the duty had fallen mainly on his shoulders.

Don glanced across the way to Terry's desk, feeling a small pang of longing. She had been gone for nearly a month now. Quantico had asked her to lead a class on profiling for the Academy and she had accepted. He leaned back in his chair, taking a break from the official forms.

_

* * *

"Don, can we talk?" asked Terry, standing next to his desk. They were wrapping up the domestic terrorism case. The representative from the Department of Energy was in hot water over his failure to promptly notify the FBI of the hijacking. The hijackers were all in custody. The nuclear waste was already disposed of. Don was left to organize a debriefing schedule for the whole office so that the Attorney General's staff could gather the testimony and documentation it needed to proceed with filing charges against the men. There had to be guards on constant duty at the hospital to make sure none of the exposed prisoners escaped. And then there was the paperwork._

_"Sure," he replied, looking up from the case file in front of him. She seemed a little…nervous, which was unusual for her. Terry was one of the calmest people he knew. She didn't panic easily. Don braced himself for bad news._

_"I... Well, I received a letter from __Quantico__ a week ago." She looked down at his desk, not meeting his eyes. "They want me to go back East for about a month to teach a profiling course at the Academy."_

_"That's great Terry," said Don, truly happy that her expertise was being officially recognized._

_"I'm thinking about accepting," she told him._

_"Sure," he nodded, "if that's what you want. I'm sure we can spare you for a month. Anyway, David needs some time in the field."_

_Terry raised her head and smiled, something that put butterflies in his stomach, "Thanks."_

* * *

Don missed her…in a decidedly unprofessional manner. He strove hard not to let anyone else see it, but he was fairly sure that David had some knowledge of what was going on. The young man was new to the office, but he was a fast learner in all aspects of law enforcement life and that included being able to read people. He knew something was up between Don and Terry, but he hadn't given any indication of broaching that subject. David had just taken everything in stride, learning about field work with an open mind._

* * *

Don leaned against her cubical wall, watching her as she signed her name on a report. Today was her last day at the office. Terry looked up as she closed the file and she smiled._

_"What?" she asked. Terry put the manila folder on the stack of finished reports and pushed her chair back from the desk. _

_"Nothing," he replied, "I was just wondering if you wanted a ride to the airport tomorrow?"_

_"No," she said, "It's an early flight so I'm going to take a cab. Don't worry about it." She stood up and put on her coat. "Any plans tonight?"_

_"No," he replied, "I'm hoping to drop by the house, see how Charlie and Dad are."_

_"Say goodbye to them for me?"_

_"Sure. Walk you out?" he asked, walking over to his chair and grabbing his suit jacket. Both of them tidied up their workspaces. She put the stack of reports in her out box and locked her desk while he straightened a family portrait on his and put away his important files. Don put aside the on-going Hoke investigation without a qualm. The man was already dead; the case could wait for a night. He would deal with it tomorrow._

_"Sure, why not?" replied Terry as she tucked her desk key in her pocket. 'Is she flirting with me?' Don wondered before quickly pushing that thought away. It could lead to trouble. The two of them walked side-by-side through the emptying office. Out of habit, Don held the security door open for her. She smiled slightly as she walked through and it caused butterflies to rise up in his stomach again. When they were in the elevator, she startled him by saying unexpectedly, "Don, while I'm gone…you will be careful?"_

_There was a plea in her voice, and Don stared at her for a few seconds, not quite understanding her request. In her eyes… she was a little scared. He didn't remember the last time he had seen her scared. Don didn't really understand why she was acting this way, but he did his best to soothe her. "Of course I will," he replied. "When haven't I been?"_

_She looked away. He winced. Maybe that hadn't been the right thing to say._

_"Terry," he said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. "What's wrong?" What he really wanted to do was hug her and tell her everything would be all right, but they were coworkers and there were rules against fraternization, especially between boss and subordinate. Don knew that he would not endanger Terry's career, even if it meant putting his emotions on hold. 'Damn it,' he cursed silently to himself while he waited for Terry to reply, 'I've been putting my emotions on hold for ten years.'_

_"I just..."she said softly, "During the sniper shootings…when Charlie… I keep thinking that it could have been you. He was shooting blindly and I…"_

_"Terry, it could have been any of us." Don tried to comfort her while he thought, 'It could have been you.' The frightening thought hadn't occurred to him before. He had been too focused on Charlie. But Don didn't say it aloud. Instead, he said in half-jest, "Look, while you're gone, I promise I'll be as careful as I can." Seconds passed as she contemplated his words._

_"All right," she finally turned to look at him. Don felt like he had to ease her mind completely. She knew him too well to just accept his word; she would want proof that he was all right._

_"Look," he offered, "if you want to, you can call me every night to make sure that I've stayed out of the hospital."_

_She chuckled quietly, "How about every other night?"_

_"Fine with me," he replied with a smile. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open to reveal the parking lot. The two of them stood still for a moment, his hand still on her shoulder. Then the moment passed and Don reluctantly withdrew his hand. He walked her to her car. He stopped a little ways away as she walked on to unlock the door and paused._

_"So…" she said slowly, "I guess I'll see you in a month."_

_He smiled for her sake, "We'll be waiting for you." Terry nodded as she turned away to open the door and then — it must have been on impulse — she turned around, took three steps, put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him gently on the lips. Don's mind, not thinking for a few blissful moments, allowed his emotions full reign. His hands, by their own volition, pulled her closer to him. The kiss deepened with repressed passions. Then as if by silent, mutual agreement, the two of them abruptly ended the moment, each taking one small step back from the other._

_"I'm —" Terry stammered, her face blushing. Don cut her off, "I'm not sorry." There was a moment of silence when the two of them stared at each other, each trying to memorize the other's features._

_"I have to go," she said suddenly, turning to walk back toward her car._

_"Terry," he said urgently, suddenly realizing something, "promise me you'll be careful."_

_She turned back to look at him, one hand on her car door, "I will." She took a deep breath before she got into her car and drove away. He stood there for a few moments before he got in to his car and drove home to see his family. After dinner, his father and Charlie engaged him in a game of chess, but Don's heart wasn't in it. His thoughts were with a blond-haired woman who was leaving __Los Angeles__. That night was a sleepless one._

* * *

The next morning she had flown out to Quantico. That night, when she had called his cell phone at work, neither of them mentioned the kiss. She simply asked how he was and reassured him that her flight was uneventful. The two of them knew that to talk about that treasured moment now would put their careers in danger. So a silent agreement had been reached not to discuss it until the two of them could speak face-to-face, away from prying ears.

Since her departure, Terry had called his cell phone every other day at precisely five-thirty. They would chat idly for a few minutes before the calls ended. Don never mentioned to her how much he looked forward to these conversations or that David, should the two of them be in the middle of field work, would suddenly go deaf when she called. He contemplated the idea of taking the young agent aside for a private conversation before Terry returned and explain to him what was going on.

A phone rang, startling Don out of his thoughts. He glanced at the clock and then at his cell phone. It wasn't ringing. He looked at the flashing light on his desk phone. '_That's odd. Who would be calling my office at five?_' Don thought as he picked up. '_I _was_ thinking about joining Dad and Charlie for dinner_.' He repressed a sigh at the thought of having to deal with another case and more paperwork.

"Eppes," he answered.

"Don Eppes?" asked the person on the other end of the line.

"Yes," his voice took on an edge of caution. Maybe giving the team the day off had been a bad idea. "Who is this?"

"I'm Jasmine Lewis," the woman said gently, "I'm afraid I have some bad news for you." At those words, Don's gut clenched with fear, had something happened to his father and brother? The woman's next words caused his world to tilt.

"I'm calling from Quantico. It's about Agent Lake."


	2. Departure and Arrival

Changes and Choices

Disclaimer: CBS owns Numb3rs. I don't.

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I was slightly surprised by the number of you who were concerned about Terry's demise. While I do write angst, I'm not that great with killing characters off. So while currently precarious, Terry's health does not necessary mean that there will be a funeral in the near future.

* * *

In his line of work, Don was familiar with the FBI's handbook approach to delivering bad news to family members. This painful conversation would be done face-to-face. The agent would first ask the family to sit down in a private room. A few other colleagues might accompany him or her, but they would stay unobtrusive. The agent would keep his or her voice low and calm, breaking the news as gently as possible. Human contact was suggested as a way to prevent any violent outbursts. If a family member became aggressive, the agent would have to stay composed to defuse the situation. Any and all questions were to be answered truthfully to the best of the agent's ability. After delivering the news, the agents were expected to withdraw from the room and allow the family to grieve in private.

A part of him was glad that he was alone in the office and that the news was coming from someone three time zones away. The fact it wasn't Merrick personally delivering the news to him meant that Terry was alive. '_For now_,' a traitorous part of his mind whispered fearfully.

"She was injured quite seriously tonight," said Lewis quietly. "I have been asked to contact her next-of-kin."

Don swallowed, "I…" Speaking seemed beyond his abilities as cold fear settled into his chest, constricting his throat and making it hard to breathe. He barely heard Lewis' next sentence, "I'm very sorry that this has happened. But I assure you that the man who did this to her is under arrest."

"I'm not her…" he trailed off. Terry had never told him that she had _him_ listed as next-of-kin. He had always assumed she had her mother or some other distant relative as her emergency contact. Why didn't she tell him?

"Yes?" Lewis sounded puzzled. When he didn't answer immediately, she became concerned, fearing that he had gone into shock. "Agent Eppes," she said gently in a probing tone, "Are you still there?"

"Yes," he replied unsteadily. He forced himself to take a slow deep breath and think before he asked, "What happened?"

"I…" Lewis faltered for a moment before answering gently, "I don't think this would be best discussed over the phone. She was taken into surgery about an hour ago. The doctors…" She paused for a moment, "I think it might be best if you come see her."

"I understand," he replied and he did. Don had been an agent long enough to understand what was not being said. He had been right in suspecting that Terry's behavior before she left Los Angeles meant that she was not going to Quantico to just teach at the Academy. Don knew she wasn't lying about the classes — he didn't remember a time when she had lied to him — but she was helping the Bureau with another case, something that she couldn't talk about with him. Lewis had essentially implied that Terry was, possibly, mortally wounded. The doctors did not think her chances of survival were good. Don firmly shoved that thought away, refusing to even think about that possibility. Terry was a fighter; she would pull through. She had to.

"I've already called Agent Merrick and he's agreed to give you emergency leave until next Tuesday," the woman's voice pulled Don away from his dark thoughts. "Would you like me to book a morning flight for you?" A part of Don's mind wondered if that was protocol, but a larger part of him was much too worried to fuss over that fact. He barely heard himself accept Lewis' kind offer, asking her to call him on his cell phone with the flight information, and end the phone call. Everything seemed to be a haze. Don was half-expecting to wake up suddenly from this nightmare and find himself dozing at his desk, worn-out by the work hours he had put in this week. But he knew it wasn't a nightmare.

Don stood up slowly from his chair, each movement feeling like lead. Suddenly, finishing the report wasn't important anymore. He glanced at Terry's desk, his vision going slightly blurry and a constriction building up in his chest. He quickly wiped his hand across his eyes and put on his coat. After following the usual procedures to secure the office and waving good night to the evening security guard, he went down to the garage.

* * *

As he drove through the evening rush hour traffic, the part of him that was trained as a law enforcer remarked that shock was beginning to settle in and that driving would not be recommended in his current state of mind. He ignored it. However, Don didn't disregard the inner voice that told him to go to his family. He pulled into the driveway of his childhood home and got out. His father was out in the front yard, weeding the flower beds.

"Hi, Donnie," said Alan cheerfully before he saw his eldest son's face. The elder man stood up so quickly that his knees protested. "What happened?"

"Dad," Don swallowed, "I just — Terry — I need to fly out to see her."

"Okay," Alan didn't ask questions. Don had mentioned Terry's temporary departure for Quantico a few weeks ago. Given the history between the two of them and the secretive phone calls Don kept receiving ever since she left, Alan was fairly sure that the two's work relationship was taking a more personal turn. However, a father had to know when to press and when to just let things take their course, so Alan hadn't said a word about the phone calls or a possible relationship. But if something had happened to Terry — and the older man knew something did, just by the look on Don's face— Alan knew that his son would be incapable of answering any of his questions. Instead, the man quickly put a supporting hand under his son's elbow and guided him into the house. "Let's go inside."

"Charlie!" called Alan, once the two of them were inside the house, "Charlie!"

"What, Dad?" Charlie came down the stairs, his uncapped red pen still in one hand and a half-graded piece of homework in the other. "Hi Don." Then he took a close look at his brother, "Hey Don, are you all right?" Charlie frowned in concern.

"Charlie —" began Alan, but he was interrupted by a concerned feminine voice.

"Mr. Eppes, what's wrong?" Amita appeared right behind Charlie on the stairs, a stack of papers in one hand. It appeared that the two of them had been in the middle of grading work for one of Charlie's classes.

"Charlie," Alan pretended he hadn't been interrupted, "could you get one of the suitcases from the closet and pack it for Don? You know where he keeps his change of clothes."

"Sure," the mathematician was getting rather nervous, "What's going on?"

"Terry's hurt," said Don quietly. Charlie and Amita both paled. Only Alan noticed how Amita's free hand had found its way to rest on his younger son's shoulder.

"Oh… What —"

"I don't know, Charlie," Don was beginning to shake. He never broke down, not once, not in front of others. Alan quickly settled his elder son down on the living room couch and gave Charlie a look that told him to go and pack that bag. With a worried look, Charlie allowed Amita to pull him back upstairs, leaving the two men alone.

"Don, she's going to be all right." Alan tried his best to soothe his son's fears, "You and I both know that she's a fighter."

"Dad, I…" Don's voice broke, his shoulders slumping, "I'm so scared."

"Oh Donnie," Alan sighed and he hugged his son briefly. "The doctors are doing their best and she'll pull through this. You can't tell me she's never been hurt before."

"Not like this," was the whispered reply. "Dad, I wasn't there. I don't know what happened. I couldn't pro — … This is why… This is why I'm afraid to love her. If she — If anything happened to her in the field… What if she doesn't…"

"Don," Alan shook his son gently, "You can't make her decisions for her. You can try to protect her, but she's an officer of the law, just like you are. Both of you are going to take risks every day. You're not always going to be able to protect her. I worry about you and so does Charlie, and so did your mom. But we still love you, even though we can't always protect you."

"I'm just so afraid that we'll never have —"

"Donnie, don't you dare think like that," said Alan sternly. "The two of you are going to get a chance to talk about this. But, a word of advice, son, make sure you're sure of what you want and you're ready to give her what she wants before you two talk, all right?"

"I can't think," said Don agitatedly. Alan nodded his head, "I know. But as soon as you can, think it over, all right?"

"What if she thinks I'm doing this because I'm insecure?" asked Don. Alan resisted the urge to sigh; while his sons were geniuses in their respective fields, sometimes they could be very slow with romantic matters. "If Terry knows you as well as I think she does, she'll know that you're talking about this with her because you care about her, you love her."

"I just —" Don ran a hand through his hair, "what if she's not ready to talk about it? I mean, she's just been seriously injured and I want to talk about a relationship with her?"

"Just let her know that you're ready to talk about it when she's ready," advised Alan, "And be honest — not that you need to worry about that." He squeezed his son's shoulder and stood up. "Now, when is your flight?"

"I don't know yet," he replied. "They're supposed to call me when the flight's booked."

"All right… She's still in surgery, right?" Don nodded silently, his thoughts elsewhere. "Don. Don," Alan brought his son's attention to focus on him, "she wouldn't want you starving yourself. You're going to be doing a lot of traveling in the next twenty-four hours. You need to eat. Now help me make dinner, okay?" Don nodded again and stood up slowly, feeling every bit of his thirty-six years. It took a few seconds before his eyes caught sight of Charlie, standing quietly in the doorway, looking scared and worried.

"Don," said Charlie softly, his facial expression conveying all of his emotions. There was fear and confusion in his younger brother's eyes, the emotions of someone who both understood the situation and failed to comprehend its occurrence. This time, there were no panicky equations or mathematical statistics falling from Charlie's lips. Perhaps he knew Don's state of mind, or he was just too scared to think about the numbers and what they meant. The part of Don who was always on Big Brother duty worried that Charlie might retreat into P vs. NP again. After all, the sniper case had only been a few months ago and with Terry's shooting so close on its heels… who knew how the family's mathematical genius would react?

"I know, Buddy," said Don quietly. "I know." Charlie nodded.

"You boys want to help me cook dinner?" asked Alan. Amita appeared on the stairs, her knapsack slung over her shoulder and a few files in her arms.

"Amita, how about you stay for dinner?" offered Alan. "It won't be a problem to set another place at the table." The young woman shook her head, her dark curls bouncing.

"No, I shouldn't intrude right now," she glanced worriedly at Don, "especially with Terry…" Amita cleared her throat. "It's very kind of you to offer, Mr. Eppes, but I don't think tonight's a good night."

"It's all right, Amita," Don spoke up. '_Charlie looks like he could use the support you provide him_,' he thought, but said to her, "You wouldn't be intruding if you stayed."

She glanced at Charlie and then at Alan before she nodded slowly, "All right. Do you need me to help with dinner?"

"Sure," Alan replied quickly. The meal was prepared in near silence, though both Alan and Amita tried their best to distract the brothers from their brooding. Don kept glancing at his cell phone, willing it to ring with good news, while Charlie fidgeted nervously as he stirred the tomato sauce.

* * *

Dinner was hardly a lively affair either. Don barely tasted his father's spaghetti sauce, uncertainty gnawing at him. All of the constant reassurances he told himself failed to calm his nerves. Charlie, who counted Terry as one of his friends, was struggling not to calculate the odds for her survival. He didn't want to know. Alan spent more time watching his sons' behavior than eating his dinner, knowing that if Terry didn't make it, his sons would be thrown into their own private hells. He hated feeling helpless, unable to protect his sons from life's cruel twists and turns. Amita ate very little; it wasn't that she didn't like Alan's cooking — it was wonderful — but she was scared. She had never had anyone close to her die before; Amita prayed fervently that Terry would not be the first.

After dinner, Charlie and Amita cleared the dinner table before she challenged him to a game of chess. Even though she was a novice player, Amita still hoped to keep Charlie distracted from his thoughts. Alan and Don were doing the dishes in the kitchen when Don's cell phone rang. He hastily wiped his soapy hands on a dish towel and answered it.

"Agent Lake's out of surgery and in the ICU right now," Lewis' voice sounded vastly more relieved than from three hours before. "The surgeon was cautiously optimistic. The next forty-eight hours are the most crucial. Your flight leaves tomorrow at 6:30 am on Continental Airline. One of your agents, David Sinclair, has already volunteered to deliver the ticket and boarding pass to your home once they're ready."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," she replied in her soft voice. "Oh, and sir, it would make things a lot easier if you didn't bring your firearm with you. Is that all right with you?"

"Sure." Don had already planned to leave his weapon in Los Angeles. At the moment, he did not really want to fill out the paperwork necessary to carry a weapon through airport security and onto an aircraft. All he wanted was to get to Terry's bedside as soon as possible.

"All right, I'll be waiting for you right outside the gate when you arrive. I assume you want to see her as soon as possible?"

"Yes," he then added as an afterthought, "please."

"That's not a problem. I'll see you tomorrow then." They exchanged pleasantries before Don hung up. A small weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. Terry was out of surgery and still alive. He clung to that fact like a lifeline.

"How is she?" asked Charlie, standing in the doorway. Amita stood behind him, just as anxious for news. Apparently Charlie had ditched the chess match as soon as the phone had rung. Don smiled weakly at his younger brother, "She's in the ICU now. The doctors think she has a good chance." Those weren't Lewis' precise words, but Don didn't want to leave Charlie in turmoil. "I'm flying out tomorrow at 6:30." Alan nodded as he finished up the last of the dishes and wiped his hands.

"Then you'll need to get some sleep," he advised his elder son. Don nodded in agreement. Even though he knew he would get little to no rest tonight, not with Terry hurt, Don didn't want to cause his father any more worry than he already was. However, being a father, Alan knew full well what was going through his son's mind, but he didn't say a word. If Don wanted to keep him from fretting, Alan would pretend not to fret.

Amita glanced at her watch and sighed, "My roommate will freak out if I don't get home soon." She picked up her knapsack and slung it over her shoulder before she looked at Alan, "Thank you for dinner Mr. Eppes."

"Thank you for staying," he replied, giving his younger son a significant look which the mathematician missed. Amita missed it too as she had turned to her thesis adviser and said gently, "Charlie, I'll see you tomorrow." She then turned to Don. It was difficult knowing what to say to him, but she finally decided to tell him, "Don…she's going to be okay." He nodded, swallowing hard. Charlie walked her to the door, handing Amita her coat, and watched her drive away while Alan escorted Don upstairs.

"Try to sleep, all right?" Alan told his son before he shut the door firmly behind him. Don sighed as he looked around his childhood bedroom. He knew his father would be up in a half an hour to check on him and to see if he was asleep or not. The bed did look inviting, Don conceded, and he did need to convince his father that he was resting, even if he wasn't. So Don changed out of his suit and climbed into bed. Physically exhausted from two fast-paced manhunts and emotionally drained from the events of the last few hours, Don was asleep within minutes.

* * *

Alan forcibly sent Charlie up to bed a little while after Amita had left. Charlie had spent a few minutes pacing nervously in the living room before Alan couldn't stand it anymore. He had sat by his younger son's bedside until the young man had dozed off. Then Alan had peeked into Don's room to find that his eldest son was sleeping uneasily. The father whispered some soothing reassurances until Don had settled down. Now he was the only one awake in the house. Alan picked up his latest reading project and sat down in the living room, hoping guiltily to distract himself from reality. It was nearly nine o'clock when the doorbell rang. Alan cautiously went to answer it. After all, this _was_ Los Angeles. He was surprised when he saw the person standing on the front porch.

"David," greeted Alan, opening the door and stepping out of the way, "please, come in."

"Thank you Mr. Eppes," David Sinclair replied as he entered the foyer. "Can I speak with Don?"

"He's asleep," said Alan with a sigh.

"Oh, then there's no need to wake him," David handed Alan an envelope, "Could you just give this to him when he wakes up? It has all his flight information in it."

"Sure, that won't be a problem."

"Um, Mr. Eppes," David glanced at the floor, unable to meet the elder man's eyes, "do you know anything about Terry…?"

"Yeah, Don said that she's out of surgery and in the ICU right now." David sighed quietly with relief, "So she's going to be okay?"

"We hope so," replied Alan honestly.

"Good," David nodded, his hand already reaching for the doorknob. "I should go. Have a good evening, Mr. Eppes."

"You too David," Alan replied as David stepped through the front door and went down the porch steps. He sighed as he locked the door. Alan had stared at the same page in the book for ten minutes before David had arrived. He gave up on reading and decided to retire for the night. Alan left the envelope under Don's cell phone and went upstairs to bed, remembering to set his alarm clock for four in the morning.

* * *

Don was gently woken up a few hours later by his father who made him a quick snack and filled him in on David's visit. Alan reminded his son to remember to eat lunch and get some sleep on the plane. Don nodded distractedly as he picked up his carry-on with his spare change of clothes and checked to make sure that he had everything he needed. Alan squeezed his son's shoulder briefly in support before Don got into the airport taxi Alan had called. Alan did not want his son driving when he was tired.

Thankfully, the airport was nearly deserted at that hour of the morning and check-in produced no hassles for Don. The flight was on time and uneventful. He was seated next to a quiet college student on her way home for the summer who did not engage him in any lasting conversation. Perhaps she sensed his worry and exhaustion. More likely it was because she spent the majority of the flight asleep. Fatigue allowed him to nap during the three and a half hour flight.

As soon as he disembarked from the plane, Don began to search for Agent Lewis. He had found that, over the years, he was usually able to discern law enforcement personnel from civilians. Officers of the law were always, on some level, highly aware of their surroundings and always on the lookout for trouble. The majority of the time, they had an air of authority or reassurance, something that came with the job. Most of Don's female colleagues possessed strong personalities, even though a few of them were usually soft-spoken. It wasn't always that difficult to pick them out in a crowd.

"Don Eppes?" asked a business-suited woman standing right next to him. Don turned and studied the FBI agent who had spoken to him. She was petite with an air of authority that added a few inches to her bearing. Her shoulder-length brown hair was kept out of her eyes by a ponytail that rested lightly against the back of her navy blue business suit.

"Jasmine Lewis?" he asked in reply. She nodded, "I'm sorry that we're meeting under these circumstances." Don shook her hand. She gestured toward the airport exit.

"You'll be glad to hear that Agent Lake was moved into Recovery this morning," said Lewis, her smaller physique not hindering her ability to keep up with Don's longer strides as the two of them walked toward the airport exit.

"That's good," Don managed. "Is there anything else?"

"Even though she is out of the ICU, her condition is still critical, but stable," Lewis glanced at him, choosing her words carefully. "Things can still go either way." Don nodded.

* * *

Lewis didn't say much as she drove him to Benson Memorial Hospital where Terry was. Don watched the places pass by him in silence, recalling decade-old memories and comparing them to what he saw now. He remembered that Benson Memorial was one of the closest hospitals to FBI Headquarters and the Academy. When one of his classmates had taken a hard fall during a field exercise, he had been sent there for medical treatment. Lewis pulled into the parking lot and led him to the fifth floor of the hospital, going directly to the nurses' station for information.

"We're here to see Terry Lake," said Lewis. Don was standing nervously behind her. Hospitals always made him feel nauseous now. They reminded him of friends who had been injured in the field and coworkers who hadn't made it after a gunfight. They reminded him of the weeks his mother had struggled to battle against the cancer that took her life. And now, Terry was in one of these rooms, dependent on solemn-faced doctors and their medical equipment to survive.

"And you would be?" the nurse asked suspiciously, looking between the two people standing in front of her.

"Agents Jasmine Lewis and Don Eppes, FBI," replied Lewis calmly, pulling out her badge. Don did the same. The nurse took a good look at the identifications and nodded, "She's in room 306, down the hall, on your right. There's a guard outside her door. Dr. Meeker just checked on her. There's been no change in her condition."

It took all of his control not to go running down the corridor to her room as Jasmine thanked the nurse. Instead, Don walked as steadily as he could, his stomach rolling unpleasantly. Lewis walked by his side, still keeping her silence. Their footsteps echoed against the linoleum floor. The small part of Don that focused solely on logic wondered what Terry had been doing for the past month that would warrant a guard to be stationed in front of her door. But the majority of him was praying that she wasn't hurt as badly as he had been led to believe. He wouldn't mind if this was some cruel hoax, as long as she was all right and unharmed. As the nurse had said, a suited man was sitting outside of her door, reading a book. He stood up at Don's approach, barring his way.

"He's with me," she said, "Agent Lake's listed next-of-kin." The guard nodded and sat back down in his chair. "I'll be out here," she told him gently, knowing his wish to be alone with Terry. Don took a deep breath before he went in, steeling himself for what he was going to see.

He wasn't prepared.


	3. First Sight

Changes and Choices

Disclaimer: CBS owns Numb3rs. I don't.

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who reviewed! My apologies for a long wait. (This is what happens when you start with a one-shot and end up with a novel. Sometimes I have no idea what's going to happen next.) My life will be a little busy for the next two months so I think the next chapter will cause an equally long delay. --'

* * *

Death.

One would think that after years of working as an FBI agent, Don would be able to deal with the end of life with some degree of serenity. After all, he risked his life whenever he went out into the field. Surely he had come to terms with dying. He thought he had, detaching himself from the victims in his cases as best he could. It was a coping mechanism that most agents developed. They had to, in order to do their jobs.

But all that distance had collapsed into nothingness when he had received that fateful phone call three years ago. Don still could hear his mother's soft voice as she told him over the phone that she had cancer, most likely terminal. All the regrets he had: the missed parties, the too-rare family visits, the childhood resentment of Charlie being her favorite, his purposeful neglect to request a transfer back to Los Angeles… All of it had bubbled up from inside him. So he had gone home, gone back to his family, gone back to his mother, and made his peace.

Don now understood his mother a little better than when he had left for Quantico. Yes, undeniably Charlie was her favorite, but she didn't love her eldest any less. Margaret Eppes worried, as any mother would, about the son who, as a federal agent, hunted down cold-blooded criminals for a living. She just also happened to have concerns about the son who was a mathematical genius, trying to give him as normal a life as she could. Don had been there to say his apologies and receive a few unexpected ones from his mother before she passed away.

But with Terry… Don closed his eyes, shutting out the image that was seared into his mind. Terry, his vibrant, spunky partner, his friend for over a decade, motionless on the hospital bed, eyes closed and her skin a deathly pallor. There was still so much left unsaid, unresolved between them. This was what he was always afraid of: that if he allowed himself to fall in love with her and something happened to her while they were in the field… He couldn't handle it, not being able to protect her. But he could not handle this. He could not bear the thought of losing her without ever telling her how much he still loved her. Don opened his eyes again and tried to take in a steadying breath before he slowly approached her bedside.

Machines hummed softly around her recumbent form, monitoring her vital signs. Automatically, Don looked at the heart monitor. It was beeping steadily, but he couldn't shake the fear that was strangling his breathing. A hint of white bandaging peeked out from under her hospital gown, concealing whatever wounds that had put her in the ICU and fighting for her life. He sank into the chair by her bedside. He had never seen her look so vulnerable. Don took her hand, so cold, so limp, in his own warm ones, willing for her to open her eyes and smile at him, give him the chance to say what he needed to say. She gave no sign of recognizing his presence. Don felt helpless, sitting there by her side, waiting for her to wake up.

Time passed slowly for him as he sat by Terry's bedside, waiting and praying. Jasmine had come in once to inform him that the still-ongoing case needed her presence at Headquarters and told him to ask the guard to contact her if he needed anything. Don had nodded in reply. Understanding his state of mind, the other agent had left without another word.

Don struggled to keep himself optimistic and he began to think about what he wanted to say when Terry woke up. An abrupt confession of love would not do. That could ruin everything that the two of them had if she didn't feel the same way. He would have to break his feelings to her gently and see if she responded in the like. From there, his mind, exhausted, began to drift through old memories that Don had not thought of for years.

_

* * *

"Hi," a female voice said quietly behind him. In the process of packing up his books in the rapidly emptying classroom, Don half-turned to see the strawberry-blond standing behind him. She smiled slightly, her hair pulled back from her face in a ponytail. She hugged her textbook on Forensic Science against her chest._

_"Hi," he replied, turning fully around to face her. She was one of his classmates in Criminal Profiling at __Quantico__. Out of the many bright agents-in-training, she was near the top of the class in rank. Don rapidly ran through a list of his colleagues in his mind, finally remembering her last name. He asked with a friendly grin, "__Lake__, right?"_

_At that, her smile, if anything, became broader and she replied, "Terry. My first name's Terry."_

_"I'm Don," he shook her hand, "Nice to meet you."_

_"Nice to meet you too," said Terry in her soft voice. "I was just wondering if you would be interested in joining a study group on the weekends. We could really use someone who's good with Forensics."_

_"Sure," he said. Don found the experience of becoming a FBI agent challenging, but enjoyable. Besides being physically fit, they had to study psychology and profiling, memorize extensive law codes, and learn the proper procedures that would protect them in the field. Finals would require extensive preparations academic-wise and he had not looking forward to doing hours of revision alone. With a study group, it might actually make revisions less dull and more interesting._

_He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but being out on his own, so far away from his family, was very lonely for him. Don was used to being able to come home and having his father there with the latest baseball stats, or Charlie to ramble on about math, or his mother to cook one of her delicious turkey dinners. But now they were on the other side of the nation and he had his chance to learn how to live without depending on anyone but himself. He looked forward to getting a chance to get to know his future coworkers beyond the classroom setting and to enjoy the company they would provide._

* * *

Don had joined the study group which was made up of some of the brightest minds in the Academy. All of them had been brought together by academics and a drive to succeed, but friendship gradually replaced grades as the main reason for the group to continue meeting. Even after graduation, the eight or so agents still kept in touch with one another through the occasional phone call, email or case. Don and Terry's acquaintance had started out like all the others in the study group, but it had gradually developed into something beyond friendship._

* * *

As he hit the padded floor again, Don mentally berated himself for being a chauvinistic fool. Terry, still standing, smiled down at him. On the mat next to them, a trainee fell over, caught off balance by her partner. The two of them went down with an 'oof!' Around them, other agents-in-training were sparring or practicing maneuvers to disarm suspects. A few days ago, Terry had offered to tutor him in hand-to-hand combat. Wanting to spend more time with her, away from the study group, Don had accepted. He just hadn't expected her to be so tough._

_"You're getting there," she remarked. "Just stop underestimating me." Ah, so she knew too. Don guessed that he did deserve the beating he was getting. Her brother, apparently, was a Marine and had taught his little sister a few tricks to protect herself during her adolescent years._

_'I just hope all of the suspects that I encounter don't look as pretty as you.' Heavens, did he just say that aloud? Don froze on the floor. Terry, however, didn't seem to have heard his remark. He quickly stood up again while she took a drink from her water bottle._

_"Ready?" he asked, privately hoping the answer would be no. His body was already beginning to feel sore from the pounding she was giving him. 'This is good training,' he reminded himself, trying to remain optimistic. After all, there was going to be a field exercise in about two hours. 'It's going to be worse in the field.' Another part of him chimed in that it was going to be worse in the training exercise for him because of Terry's pounding. He ignored it._

_"Sure," she smiled brightly at him and put down her water bottle. Don wrote a mental note to himself to never ever mess with Terry Lake, especially in hand-to-hand combat._

* * *

Even in the midst of his fear and inner turmoil, a slight smile graced Don's lips as he remembered when he had first asked her out. Terry was by no means the first woman he took out on a date, but he had felt nervous just the same. It must have been their third year in the Academy on a beautiful spring day…._

* * *

"See you in Forensics!" Their informal study group had been meeting in the library during a rare free period during the day. As classes were due to resume in ten minutes, the group had broken up to depart to various locations scattered across the compound until there were only Don and Terry left. He mustered up his courage, steadied his nerves and walked over to stand next to her. She glanced over at him as her hands quickly packed her notebooks back into her satchel._

_"Would you like to go out with me tonight?" he asked._

_"I would love to," Terry answered, "but I have to do my laundry." She slung the bag's strap over her shoulder. They walked out of the library together. Her answer, while throwing him off for a moment, didn't deter him from trying again._

_"That's okay," he quickly replied. "We can do our laundry together." He silently thanked his mother for teaching him how to use a laundry machine properly all those years go. He did not want to look like a fool, not in front of Terry._

_"All right, if that's what you want," she acquiesced, but there was a twinkle in her eyes. As he walked her to her class, the two of them chatted about other subjects, including a fellow classmate's courtship with an enlisted man from __Norfolk__. When they reached Terry's classroom, Don stopped and asked, "I'll pick you up at seven?"_

_"All right," she gave him a coy smile just before she entered her class. Don indulged in a few moments of jubilation that he finally asked Terry out before hurrying to his own class. From what his classmates had told him, he had a small self-satisfied look on his face for the rest of the day._

* * *

Even when he was courting Kim, nothing matched that date in the Laundromat. The two of them had joked and laughed as they washed their clothes. He would always remember the gentle, hesitant kiss the two of them shared that night before she went into her apartment: the twinkle in her eyes as they leaned in closer, the softness of her lips, her low moan that sent tingles up and down his spine, the gentle vanilla scent of her soap, and the beautiful blush that had spread over her cheeks after they broke apart. Those little things had clung to his memory, even after they had parted ways post-graduation.

When he had met Terry again, after all those years, Don had expected to see some changes. He knew about her short-lived marriage that had ended in a nasty divorce. He knew that being police officers, both of them had seen the darker side of human nature. He knew that being a profiler meant that Terry had the ability to think like a criminal and surely that would change her. But he was surprised by how much she had not changed.

She still retained that dazzling smile, though he saw it rarely now. The twinkle in her eyes was still there when she was amused. She was still a steadying force in Don's life. Even in the worst of circumstances, she kept her calm and could be counted on to be reasonable, especially if a situation went south. She was there to comfort him when he struggled to cope with his mother's impending death and through the grief-filled months following her passing. Terry was blunt when she had to be, especially when he was frustrated. She helped him understand how Charlie thought and reasoned, no easy feat. She was his loyal partner who, as his father had hinted, had a lot more hidden behind her façade of partnership. Would they have a chance to explore it? As Lewis had said, "Things could still go either way."

At that thought, his vision began to blur and his breathing became harder, but he didn't take notice. It was only when someone's hand came into his line of vision, silently offering him a tissue, did Don realize that he was crying. The young nurse gently set the box of tissues on the bedside table beside him and smiled sympathetically. She then silently checked Terry's vital signs and left the room.

* * *

Don continued his vigil as the afternoon passed, afraid that if he left her bedside for too long, he would return to find the unspeakable. There was some shuffling outside the door when the guards changed shifts and the nurse came by periodically, thoughtfully bringing Don a water bottle once. She hadn't said anything when she gave him the bottle, but the look on her face had silently ordered him to drink without fuss. He had obeyed. But other than that, there was no disturbance.

That changed when the nurse came in on her fifth visit. Instead of walking directly to the foot of Terry's bed to pick up the medical chart, she came to his side and leaned down slightly to speak in his ear.

"I'm sorry, sir," the nurse said quietly, as if afraid of waking her patient, "but visiting hours are over soon. You'll need to leave. I assure you, if anything changes, you'll be called immediately." She added, reading the emotions on Don's face correctly, "Ms. Lake has been stable for the past six hours. I can't say for certain that she'll be all right, but I'm fairly sure of it. And to be honest, sir, you look like you could use the rest. Let us look after her tonight."

"All right," he conceded reluctantly. The nurse squeezed his shoulder in support before she performed her duties and left, skirting past Jasmine Lewis who was standing in the doorway.

"Agent Eppes?"

"Please," he turned around in his seat without rising, "Don." She smiled back tightly, "Then please, Jasmine." The smile disappeared, "Visiting hours are almost over and I still owe you an explanation for what happened. How about we get you checked into the hotel and talk this over dinner?"

"Thank you," he said. He looked back at Terry. The nurse had been earnest in her reassurances and he would have to trust her. Color had gradually returned to Terry's cheeks over the past few hours and warmth to her hands. It did indeed seem that she would be all right. Don relaxed his grip on her hand and stood up slowly. Terry would be okay. He repeated to himself like a mantra. She would be okay. Now it was time he found out who had put her in this condition.

"All right," said Don, picking up his suit jacket and following Jasmine out of the hospital.

* * *

The two of them ended up at a small local restaurant in a back booth, sipping coffee while they waited for their dinner. Jasmine had been silent while she drove him to the hotel and helped him check in. Don waited for her to start. He could tell that she knew he would not like what she had to say. The female agent took a sip of her coffee, sighed and began.

"About two months ago, the agent in charge of leading the profiling classes at the Academy took an emergency personal leave of absence. A family member was in the hospital and he needed to be there for his family. Various agents filled in the position while the search for a temporary replacement went on. As you know, we eventually offered the position to Agent Lake. She agreed to lead seminars on profiling and forensic psychology for one month while we searched for a permanent replacement.

"At the same time, we were in the midst of a large investigation. I can't go into details here, but we were preparing to make a bust when she arrived. Knowing that profiling was her area of expertise, we approached her for help in conducting a few interrogations for us. She agreed.

"Last night, when one of the suspects was being removed to lock-up, he managed to grab another agent's gun. There was a struggle between the three of them for control." Jasmine looked down at her coffee mug. Her voice was barely above a whisper and filled with anguish and self-recrimination. "She was shot at close range in the chest."

"And the suspect?" asked Don. It took all of his training to keep himself calm and ignore the emotions boiling within him. To the FBI, he had to be her partner, nothing more, nothing less. He had to stay in control.

"He was subdued. As I've said before, he will be tried for assault with a deadly weapon and attempted murder, and I have no doubt he will be convicted."

"I see," he said tightly. Don didn't ask if he could have a little 'chat' with the suspect. It would be unprofessional of him and Jasmine would not grant the request even if he did ask. She was smart and had probably had the man transferred to a federal penitentiary long before Don's flight had landed in Virginia. Then he caught a glimpse the anger in her brown eyes, mirroring his own. He amended his thoughts; perhaps she had the man sent away before _anyone_ was tempted to 'chat' with him about nearly murdering a federal agent.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. Don just nodded as the waitress approached with their warm meals. He forced himself to eat. Jasmine kept her silence, letting him sort through all of his emotions in peace. After dinner, she drove him back to the hotel, promising to pick him up at eight the next morning. Don went up to his room, called his father to reassure him that the flight was uneventful and that Terry's condition had improved, showered and changed into more comfortable clothing before he tried to get some rest. He tossed and turned in bed, occasionally waking up in a sweat, his heart pounding from nightmares, both old and new. It was only in the early morning hours that his body, finally pushed to its limits by exhaustion, collapsed into an uneasy, restless sleep.


	4. Conversations

Changes and Choices

Disclaimer: CBS owns Numb3rs. I don't.

Author's Note: Thank you all for your patience. Things kind of ran away from me with this chapter. Don't fret, I will finish this story. It's just going to take a bit of time to finish polishing it.

* * *

While Jasmine had reassured him that Terry's condition had not deteriorated during the night, Don was anxious to see his partner just the same. When the two agents exited the elevator on the fifth floor, the place had not changed much from the day before. There was none of the chaos that engulfed the first-floor emergency room or the orderly haste that dictated the operating rooms on the second floor. Here medical personnel moved with a soothing calm between hospital rooms, checking in on patients with a smile and a quiet greeting. The morning sunshine cast a soft glow against the rose-colored hospital walls. The gentle silence that permeated the atmosphere was interrupted only by the soft footfalls of orderlies and low conversations between patients and visitors. The only anomaly to this montage of peace was the armed guard sitting beside an open doorway.

The sentry had changed overnight. A woman in her mid-twenties sat outside the door now, her attention focused on a heavy textbook in her lap. She looked up at the two approaching agents, but did not get up to block their way. Instead, she waited until they were a few feet away from her.

"Good morning, Agent Eppes, Agent Lewis," she said quietly in greeting. He nodded back, not inquiring after how she knew his name.

"When will Meeker be around, Henderson?" asked Jasmine. Glancing at her watch, the young agent answered, "Two hours, I think. When he made his rounds earlier, he said that she's still critical, but she's stable and he thinks she'll be fine."

"Good," Jasmine nodded. She turned to him. "Don, if it's all right with you, I have to leave."

"It's fine," he replied.

"Lisa," began Jasmine, "if anything happens—"

"I know," the other woman said soothingly, "I will call you immediately."

Jasmine left the two of them just outside of Terry's room. The young agent smiled tightly at him before returning her attention to her Forensics book. Don entered the hospital room and sat back down in the same seat he had occupied the day before. He allowed himself one anxious glance at the myriad of monitors surrounding Terry before he turned his concentration to the case notes that Jasmine had given him in the car.

_

* * *

He tore his attention away from studying the front windows of the local grocery store when she gently cleared her throat. Jasmine waited until the car came to a full stop at the traffic lights before she turned to look at him solemnly, having come to some unspoken decision._

_"Don," she said quietly, "last night I told you I couldn't go into details about the investigation. I think that you deserve to know a little more than that." Don held up his hands in a gesture that asked her not to go on. They both knew the rules governing on-going investigations and the risk she was taking if she was going to give an uninvolved agent details pertaining to the case, especially an agent with personal ties. She shook her head._

_"No, I know I can trust you on this and… She's your partner. I think you should know the facts." Jasmine returned her attention to the road, but not before adding, "Fiction is worse than facts sometimes."_

_Don thought about his nightmares and silently agreed. She went on, "I've written out a basic summary of the case. It's in there." Jasmine nodded toward the plain white envelope on the dashboard in front of him. "There's nothing vital that could damage our case if it got misplaced."_

_"Don't worry," he replied, knowing her unspoken preference, as he took the packet and tucked it into his inner coat pocket, "I'll take care of it." She smiled slightly in relief, "Thanks."_

* * *

He opened the sealed envelope. Jasmine apparently had a taste for understatement because what she had given him was hardly a basic summary. Inside were several sheets of paper, covered in semi-loopy handwriting or censored photocopies of someone's notes. Flipping through the sheaf, there was one photocopied page of handwriting that Don recognized at a glance: Terry's. He glimpsed through it; it was notes for a day of interrogations. He sighed, '_How much do I really want to know about what she's been doing? What risks she's been taking without me to watch her back? She doesn't need a knight-in-shining armor to protect her._' Don chided himself gently. '_Terry can take care of herself, has taken care of herself for years without me and done a damn good job of it…_' His eyes drifted to her still form, '_…most of the time._' He shuffled the papers back into order. As he began to read, Don slipped one hand into her lax grip, a part of him still needing reassurance she was alive.

"Don?" He barely heard her weak voice call his name, but he immediately sat up straighter and put the notes in his lap. She turned her head towards him. A relieved smile spread across his face as he met her eyes. "Hi there, s-Terry," he said gently, just barely catching his slip-of-the-tongue. He brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. The papers fluttered to the floor when he shifted his weight forward, but he didn't care. She blinked slowly, her eyes adjusting to the light and her mind registering her surroundings.

"I thought you were in L.A," she said softly, confused by his presence. Terry was tired, he could tell, and was fighting to stay awake to talk with him. He needed to coax her back to sleep. '_Not that it's going to be difficult. I wonder how many painkillers or sedatives she's on._'

"I was," he replied, his hand still holding hers. "I came here to see you."

"Oh," she whispered, her eyes closing against her will.

"Get some rest," he said, tenderly running a hand against her cheek. "I'll still be here later." She nodded slowly, a slight smile on her lips, before sleep welcomed her back into its restful embrace. With a murmured thankful prayer, he slumped back in his chair. As she slept this time, Don was able to enjoy sitting by her bedside, watching her slumber, grateful that she would be all right. They would have their chance to talk. They would have their chance to work things out. Relieved, he allowed his eyes to close of their own accord. Soon he too drifted off to sleep.

He didn't hear Henderson inform the nurse that Terry had woken up briefly or stir when the nurse entered the room and removed several pieces of medical equipment. It was nearly an hour later before the young agent came into the room and reluctantly tapped Don gently on the shoulder, waking him. She waited until he was fully conscious before speaking.

"Excuse me, Agent Eppes," said Henderson softly, "the surgeon wants to talk to you for a few minutes. I'll stay in here with her while you're gone." He nodded and unfolded himself from the chair, reluctantly letting go of Terry's hand. The young agent took his place, turning the chair so she could keep an eye on both Terry and the doorway at the same time. Don went out into the corridor and nearly ran into the tall chestnut-haired man in surgeon's scrubs standing just outside the door. The man promptly closed the medical chart he was reading.

"Dr. Meeker," the surgeon introduced himself, "You're Agent Lake's husband?"

"Don Eppes. A friend," Don replied shortly. The doctor took the correction in stride as they shook hands. He motioned for Don to step away from the open hospital room door.

"I understand that she regained consciousness for a few minutes," stated Dr. Meeker, though his look told Don that it was a question. Don nodded and replied, "She was awake for about a minute."

"Did she seem lucid?"

"Yes, but she didn't say much."

"That's all right," said Meeker, nodding. Seeing Don's unspoken question, the medical expert explained, "I was worried that she might have suffered a concussion when she didn't wake up yesterday, but from what you've just told me, she seems to be perfectly fine. The next time she wakes up, see if you can keep her awake and talking until I get there. I've already instructed the nurses and her guard to page me when that happens."

"Um, Doctor…" Don wasn't sure if he really wanted to know the details, but he steeled himself for the other man's answer as he asked, ""How — how bad was it?"

"She's a fighter," Meeker replied, which were all the answers Don wanted. "However, it's highly unlikely that she'll be fit for active field duty in the near future. She's lucky enough as it is to have survived.

"With the proper care and therapy, I see no reason why she shouldn't recover enough to lead a fulfilling life. Now whether that would include a career as a FBI agent remains to be seen. There shouldn't be any permanent damage, other than some scarring, but every person recovers differently. If she continues to improve, we should be able to upgrade her condition to serious but stable by the end of the day."

"When can she get out of here?"

"We'll probably be able to discharge her in a few weeks without too much worry. I would advise that she spend at least another week at home before even returning to desk duty. What she needs is to avoid stress or any situation that might raise her heart rate. We put in firm sutures, but she can't rupture them."

Meeker saw how his words had caused Don's face to drain of color and hastened to reassure him. "Ms. Lake will be fine. She just needs some time to heal completely. Once that happens, she'll be in no danger. But until then, she needs to take it easy on herself and I know, from past experience, that 'taking it easy' has a different definition when it comes to FBI agents. When she wakes up, I'll talk to both of you and explain in precise terms what you need to do in order to ensure her best recovery."

Don nodded and, after parting ways with Meeker, reentered the hospital room. Henderson stood up from the bedside chair. While she was waiting for Don's return, she had taken the time to pick up the scattered papers from the floor. As she handed them to him, she said quietly, "Agent Lake didn't stir while you were gone." He nodded his thanks, replacing the envelope inside his jacket, and Henderson returned to her post, leaving the two senior agents alone.

Don reclaimed his place by Terry's side again and took her hand in his. Now, he took the time to study her fingertips, slightly callused from years of firmly gripping handcuffs and drawing her weapon; the faint vanilla scent of moisturizer on the back of her hand, the skin surprisingly soft; her slightly swollen knuckles, bruised from the punch she had dealt in the struggle. Turning her wrist, he idly traced the creases and old scars that crisscrossed her palm, recalling memories as he did so: that scar came from a suspect's knife during a hostage situation, this cut occurred during a particularly nasty arrest. He found the faint white mark on the edge of her palm where a particularly idiotic classmate of theirs in the Academy had nipped her skin with the metal latch of handcuffs during a practical lesson. Don vaguely recalled that the classmate had suffered a nervous breakdown and been dismissed a few weeks later.

His eyes came to rest on her fingers. There was a slightly whiter band of skin at the base of her fourth finger, but her gold wedding band was nowhere to be seen. Now that he had some time to think about it, Don couldn't remember when he had last seen the sole remaining relic of Terry's marriage. He gently rubbed his thumb over her fingers, wondering if he would one day feel the smooth curves of two cool metal bands underneath his touch.

"Don?" He felt her fingers curl around his as she returned to the waking world.

"Right here, Terry." He pulled the chair closer to her bedside as she turned her head towards his voice.

"I thought I was dreaming," she whispered. Don shook his head, "No, you weren't."

"How long?" she asked, struggling to sit up. Don quickly put his free hand gently on her shoulder, warning her to stay still. "Take it easy," he told her. At her glare, Don quickly answered, "It's Sunday."

"Oh," she looked away from him, toward the window. Don waited, knowing that she was sorting out what she remembered. Terry looked back at him.

"What happened?" she asked softly. "How much did Lewis tell you?"

"She told me that you were interrogating a suspect," he replied, managing to keep his voice steady. "There was a struggle and you were shot." He didn't go into the details, not wanting to worry her with what he knew, not wanting to frighten her with how close she came to dying. Jasmine had enclosed an incident report with the notes she had given him, a single piece of paper that detailed the events of that night with words like "assault," "broken ribs," "gunshot wound," "heavy blood loss," and "nicked artery." The papers explained the armed guard outside her room and the secrecy surrounding the case. Terry had involved herself in a risky operation, one that was still incomplete, which put her in possible danger. Unconsciously, his hand tightened on hers and she returned it. When Don noticed how firmly he was gripping her hand, he forced himself to relax. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable or, Heaven forbid, give her the impression that he thought she couldn't take care of herself. '_She's not going to die now and leave me. She's not going to leave me._'

"I'm sorry," she finally said.

"For what?" he asked, surprised.

"For getting hurt," she replied, keeping a grip on his hand. Don shook his head, "It's okay. It isn't like I haven't been busy in the office while you've been gone. The manhunt almost ended in a shoot-out."

"I know; Jasmine told me."

"Yeah," Don looked down at their intertwined hands, "I saw Coop again."

"Billy Cooper?" asked Terry, "Your old partner from the Fugitive Unit? You didn't mention it."

"Yeah," he replied. "Well, neither of us had much time to talk on Wednesday." Don felt her study him. She knew that Cooper's appearance had stirred up a lot of old feelings and she waited for his decision whether to talk or not. When he didn't say anything, she moved on, "How are Charlie and your dad?"

"Doing well," he answered. "Dad took us out for a round a few days ago. Charlie's having a helluva time learning how to golf." Terry started to laugh, but quickly stopped, her free hand pressing gently against her ribs. Don waited for her call whether or not she wanted the nurse to give her a dose of painkillers. She shook her head at the question written in his expression and he nodded in reply, understanding her wishes. His eyes fell back on their interlocked hands. There was a long silence, so long that Don thought Terry had fallen back asleep, but when he checked, she was just looking at him steadily.

"What's on your mind?" she asked quietly. Don wondered briefly if this was the right time to come clean, before dismissing it. He chose to discuss another minor topic before taking his chance. "It was good to see Coop again," he said, shrugging his shoulders, "brought back a lot of memories…"

His thoughts drifted back to his father's somewhat brusque, but mostly concerned demand that he not immerse himself into his work again. He had been slightly hurt that his father could even think that he would abandon them again, even though it was a logical fear on Alan's part. Because that was what he had done when he was with Fugitive Recovery. It had been a time of his life when he just focused on his career and nothing else. Looking back, Don still didn't quite understand why he had almost severed all ties with his family, but he knew that he needed the time to work out whatever issues were bothering him. Once that was out of his system, he had asked for a transfer and ended up in Albuquerque.

* * *

She waited patiently. During the years they were apart, she had heard about bits and pieces of his life from her coworkers or just through the grapevine gossip. She knew that he had excelled in Fugitive Recovery, but had requested a transfer out of that task force. He had ended up in Albuquerque, where his abilities, honed by months in Recovery, earned him multiple commendations from his superiors. When Terry learned about his promotion to head of the Albuquerque field office, she wasn't as surprised as some of her colleagues. Don was just that good at his job, honest and reliable. He was a natural leader who, despite all his claims to the contrary, did care about the cases he worked.

As for his private life, the water cooler gossip had been scandalized by his engagement to Kim Hall, a fellow FBI agent and in the same office to boot. _That_ had caught Terry completely off-guard. Yes, the two of them had drifted apart after graduation, but to her, Don hadn't seemed like the type to marry and settle down. During their years together, he seemed…restless. There was an edge of discontent in his life. She had put it down to living in the shadow of his younger genius brother, but perhaps it had resolved itself somehow. Back then, she had just accepted the facts and wished him the best of luck in his impending matrimony. For her, the emotional scars of her failed marriage still stung three years after the divorce became final. It was too soon for her to entertain romantic notions about anybody.

Terry had been shocked when she learned that he was transferring to Los Angeles as her new partner after McClellan's retirement. It was a step down from his position in New Mexico. While she was grateful that she would have an experienced partner, it didn't seem like Don at all. Even in the Academy, she knew the FBI would be his career, and like her, his life. She didn't understand why he would request a transfer so suddenly into a demoted position. Sadness set in when she learned why. Their shared past together allowed her to help him open up slightly about his family, especially about his relationship with his mother. The night after his mother's funeral, she had answered a knock on her apartment door in the middle of the night and let him in. Nothing happened between them, just two friends grieving together. He left for his childhood home early the next morning and they never spoke of that night again.

She didn't know when she had crossed the boundary between 'friends' to genuine feelings for Don. But the night when she realized that she did, she had immediately slammed the door shut on her emotions in a panic. The majority of her was terrified of making a slip, especially at a time when Don didn't seem to be ready to enter into a romantic relationship. '_All he needs at this time in his life is a friend and partner_,' she had told herself, '_not a life partner. Not yet anyway._' So day in and day out, she worked alongside him and struggled to not give anything away. She had always been able to maintain that blank façade, concealing her true feelings. It was what made her a great interrogator; it unnerved suspects when she gave the impression that she wasn't quite human, lacking emotions such as disgust or horror. But it was difficult then to tear down those walls to let someone in at night before erecting those same protective walls the next day. It was what partially doomed her first marriage to failure.

When Kim's letter arrived in the mail, along with the engagement ring and some of his old belongings, Terry had felt a degree of fury toward the other woman. How could she do this to Don, especially at this time in his life? He needed someone who would support him through the anguish of losing a parent, not someone who left him at the first signs of trouble. But, as time passed, Terry realized that it had been a mutual agreement between the couple to end the relationship. (She never knew the details of the breakup; she hadn't asked and he hadn't volunteered.)

She hadn't been too thrilled when the Secret Service agent had shown up at the office a few months ago, but what could Terry have done about it? They needed Kim's expertise in the matter, but that didn't stop Terry from watching the other woman like a hawk for the duration of the case. She knew it was completely irrational on her part, but she couldn't help herself. David had watched her flighty behavior with some degree of curiosity, but he never said a word. Well, other than the fact that he hated when she profiled him. Sometimes, it was fun to tease the young agent a little, get David to understand the fact that it was all right to laugh when things were unbearable.

As a rule, Don rarely talked about his personal life before he returned to L.A. Terry had gathered up little bits and pieces of information he had dropped during idle stakeout conversations to piece together a vague picture of the nature of his breakup with Kim. But he had never talked about his time in the Fugitive Recovery, only mentioning it briefly enough for her to know the names of his colleagues and a few cold cases that he still tracked, but nothing more. Maybe it was a cold trail that went hot with a new lead or a failed attempt to close a case that put the pensive look on his face.

* * *

"What's bothering you?" she asked.

"Dad… he—I don't know how to put this," Don stumbled over the words, "he basically accused me, well, no, he warned me not to distance myself from him and Charlie again and I don't understand, well, I do understand, I just don't… How could he think I could do that to him and Charlie now? I mean, I'm past it, at least, I'm fairly sure that I don't want to return to Recovery. Coop was a good partner, it's just… I've changed, he's changed and back then, things were different. Sure, it was exciting during some of the chases, but…" Don sighed before he clammed up about his past.

"Don, as far as I know, you've never opened up to anyone about that time," said Terry quietly, "not to your father, not to Charlie, not to me. Maybe you should talk to your father about it," she suggested, "get him to understand that you're past that now, that you're not planning on leaving them."

Don nodded slowly as he thought back on his choices and the chain of events that had brought him to this point in his life, including, yes, his feelings for the woman sitting in front of him. The woman of his affections continued to wait patiently, watching his expression as he tried to put his emotions into words.

"What is it?" she prodded gently, seeing there was something he wanted to say.

"I wouldn't trade what I have now to go back there again," he told her as he thought, '_It's nice to be with you again._' "I mean, it's nice to be back home with Dad and Charlie," he continued, "Yeah, it's still hard sometimes dealing with Charlie when he's in his own world and I wish Mom was…,"—Terry squeezed his hand in sympathy— "but you know, Charlie's grown up a little while I was away. Sometimes I can still see him as a little kid and other times…" Don smirked slightly.

"What?"

"You know that Amita's almost finished with her degree, but she's staying at CalSci for another in astrophysics…"

"…which will mean that Charlie will no longer be her thesis adviser and professor-student rules don't apply," concluded Terry with a smile on her face. "It's about time." Don gave her a questioning look. "You can't tell me you've missed the looks that they give each other?"

"No," he answered, "I just didn't realize that you noticed it too." '_Have you noticed how I've hovered over you these past few months? How relieved I was to see you, safe and unharmed, after we arrested the __Charm__School__ Boys? How I try to keep you close during raids? How I still let you go off alone sometimes because I know you can take care of yourself, even though that causes my heart to beat a little faster with fear? Did you notice my anger and frustration when I tried to send you away in the train yard because I wanted to protect you and you refused? Did you see how much I wanted to give you a kiss after David disarmed the bomb, because, clichéd as that is, I was relieved beyond belief that we were still alive? Have you noticed how I smile more often when you're around? Sometimes know what you're thinking just by listening to your voice? Caught one of those looks that I try so hard to conceal? Glimpsed the expression on my face when you're sitting at your desk doing your paperwork? Have you seen? Do you know?_'

"Don," her voice was playfully stern, "It's my _job_ to notice things like that." Don drew in a deep breath. '_This is a perfect time to ask her._'

"So Terry," he said, sternly reminding himself to sound casual, not looking at her, "have—"

The young nurse entered the room at that precise moment, a broad smile on her face. Don quickly hid his relief and disappointment at the woman's timing.

"Good morning, Ma'am," she chirped, carrying a few fluffy pillows in her arms. "Let's get you more comfortably situated before Dr. Meeker comes." With Don's help, the nurse managed to put the pillows behind Terry's back and raise the bed, allowing her to sit up without straining any muscles.

"Agent Lake," said Dr. Meeker pleasantly from the doorway, "it's good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"

"Sore," she replied softly. He walked into the room, his footsteps surprisingly quiet for someone as imposing as he was. He picked up her chart and glanced through it briefly. After a few murmured words, the nurse bustled out of the room.

"That's not surprising," he remarked. "Any difficulty breathing?"

"It hurts, like the time I broke a rib."

"All right, that's not unexpected since you did break several ribs," he frowned, notating something down. "How much pain are you in right now? And, please, I don't want you to grit your teeth and say you're fine. I know you might have a high tolerance for pain, but for my own peace of mind, be honest with me."

"It's numb right now," she confessed. "I don't feel much of anything at all. Just a dull ache when I breathe." At Don's look, she added reluctantly, "And it hurts when I move too much."

"I'll ask the nurse to set something up for you. Are you sure you're not in serious pain?"

"Quite. When can I get out of here?"

"You're from L.A., correct?" He jotted something down on her chart.

"Yes," Don answered for her.

"Well," he looked up as he shut the chart and replaced it, "I would feel comfortable discharging you in about two weeks, but I wouldn't advise you to travel for at least three months."

"_Three months_? Doctor —" Terry began to protest.

"Agent Lake, you were nearly shot in the heart," said Dr, Meeker in a stern, gentle voice. "You were very fortunate to have survived as it is. I would not advise you to fly _anywhere_ until you are fully healed. It would be too risky otherwise." Terry swallowed hard and Don gripped her hand tighter as if he could pull her back from the events of the last few days. Meeker waited a few minutes for her to process what he had said. When her color returned slightly, he continued in a calming voice, "I know you're eager to get out of here, but I need you to listen to me carefully first. After we discharge you, you'll need to find a place to stay and relax for a week. When I say 'take it easy,' I mean take it easy. I don't want you doing yard work or jogging or anything that might increase your heart rate. I want you to be resting, as in sleeping or reclining, to regain your strength. When you're awake, you should be sitting as often as possible. I would prefer it if you were not alone," his eyes looked at Don, asking a silent question. Don shook his head.

"I'll see if Outpatient Services has someone who can stay with you." After he finished writing a note to himself on a small notepad he carried in his breast pocket, Dr. Meeker continued with his precise instructions, "After a week, if you feel up to it, then you can return to desk duty _only_. No field work," he said firmly, catching the defiant look on Terry's face. "I'm sorry Agent Lake, but I'm not going to budge on that, so don't try arguing with me. And if I find out that you went out into the field, I _will_ readmit you immediately and confine you to bed rest. Is that understood Agent?" he asked with a severe look. With a grimace, she nodded. Don saw that Meeker had played his cards with experience. Who knew how many graduating classes of FBI agents had come under his care? The doctor would have had plenty of practice dealing with irritated agents who didn't want to stay at home and rest while the trail was hot or the case was active.

In general, officers did not like enforced inactivity, much less bed rest. They were restless when there was work to be done and there never truly was a time when there wasn't work for them. From firsthand experience, he knew that Terry was capable of being a very recalcitrant patient. With so rapid a capitulation from her, Don figured that she was in a lot more pain than she was letting on since she usually argued fiercely against being sidelined.

During the Hughes kidnapping/counterfeiting case, she had suffered a hairline fracture to her forearm, but brushed it off as a bruise. Terry had gone straight back to work and it was only a day later when he noticed the white bandaging on her arm that she told him that she had an appointment with a radiologist. He had chided her gently for not telling him that she was hurt, to which she had responded that she was perfectly able to take care of herself and that David was always with her if she did need help. Don had let the issue go, but forbid her to join him on the raid, sending her off to arrest Zakarian instead. He had never told her about the heart-stopping panic that had seized him when she didn't answer, nor the look that Kim gave him at the fear in his voice as he urgently called her name. Back then, he told himself that it was because Terry was a longtime friend and his partner that caused the sudden level of alarm in him; _not_ any unprofessional or romantic feelings. He had hovered anxiously over Terry and David that night, relieved beyond words that they were unharmed in the drive-by shooting that had killed Blanchard. He had eventually convinced himself to let David stay behind to question witnesses and LAPD, but he didn't let Terry out of his sight for the rest of the night.

Don pulled himself back into the present, reminding himself to pay attention. Meeker's tone had softened once he received Terry's acceptance, "After a few weeks, we'll start you on physical therapy. Once we contact your primary physician and when I feel that you're strong enough to travel, then we'll decide when to let you go home to Los Angeles."

"Three months…" she echoed faintly and Don also felt his heart sink. It would seem like forever for him. Meeker continued on, apparently unaware of their reactions, either because he didn't see past the bland expressions on both of their faces or because he chose to be courteous and become temporarily blind.

"I've spoken with Agent Lewis and she's offered to let you stay with her for the duration of your recuperation or arrange lodgings for you at Quantico." He waited until Terry's attention was focused on him before saying, "And she told me to tell you that you, and I quote, 'need to get some rest and leave the worrying to us.' I'll give you a few prescriptions for antibiotics that you'll need to take for about three weeks. You need to take them punctually and without skipping. It will further reduce the chances of you ending up in here again because of a post-op infection. Now, any questions?"

After answering a few questions from Terry, Dr. Meeker left the two of them to eat lunch together. The hospital food was decent; not extremely appetizing, but edible. Don wondered if it was because he was a) suddenly hungry, b) relieved that Terry was all right, c) happy that Terry was awake. The other reason could be that the hospital employed a particularly dedicated cooking staff, but it seemed to be a little out there.

As the two of them ate, Don and Terry discussed the little things. If either of them cared to take note (and they were), they would have realized that they were both carefully avoiding any talk about the phone calls that had flown back and forth between them for about a month and the kiss the two of them had shared just before she left. Instead, the two agents talked about arrangements that would have to be made, both in Virginia and in L.A., for the foreseeable future. Terry would stay with Jasmine for as long as she needed to recuperate. (This was accomplished by Don's firm insistence that was backed up by a phone call to supportive Jasmine.) A new agent, preferably one with experience and a profiler's background, would take Terry's place in Don's team. Someone (and Terry did not specify who) would need to pack up her belongings and close up her apartment. She would also need someone to take in her calico kitten for duration of her recovery. Surprised that she even had a pet, Don asked who had been taking care of her cat for the past month.

"Oh, I left her with my next-door neighbor," answered Terry, "but she doesn't really like pets in general."

'_I've known you for over a decade and yet you still are full of surprises_,' Don thought. He said aloud, "I'll ask around the office, maybe David's sister can take your cat in. What's his name?" When she didn't reply immediately, he looked at her. Terry was frowning slightly in thought and then she asked, "Don, before Dr. Meeker came in, you were going to say something. What was it?"

He had hoped she had forgotten that he did not have a chance to finish his sentence. His mind fluttered back and forth, fiercely debating if this was the time to tell her and how. Realizing that he was letting the silence go on too long, Don parted his lips even though he had no idea what to say, "Uh, I was—"

A sudden knock startled both of them. '_Interrupted again_,' Don thought, not sure if it was a blessing or a curse that someone always managed to interfere at that crucial moment.

"Um, excuse me, Agent Lake, Agent Eppes," Henderson poked her head into the doorway. "There's a call for you down at the nurses' station, sir. It's an Agent Merrick from Los Angeles."

Don exchanged a look with Terry. They had been expecting the call, but it was still unwelcome. He stood, his hand slipping out of hers, and repressed a sigh. Another case had probably come up and he would have to fly out tonight or even this afternoon. '_But Terry's all right and I have the time I need to ask her…if I can find the nerve and the right timing…_'

* * *

"Excuse me," began Don, standing in front of the nurses' station where three women were crammed into the confined workspace. One of the nurses looked up from her paperwork and smiled, "Oh, Agent Eppes?"

"Yes," he said, but she was already reaching for the phone. She offered it to him, "Here."

"Thanks," he accepted it from her, "Eppes."

"Eppes, how is she doing?" asked Merrick in his customary abrupt manner.

"She's fine, sir."

"Good. I've been told that it's unlikely for her to ever work in the field again, so you'll be one agent short in the office. I have already sent several candidates' files for you to look over. When you get back here, you'll find their personnel files on your desk. Agent Lewis can give you a list of their names if you want to interview them at Quantico before you make a decision."

"Thank you sir," Don replied, even though there was no doubt in his mind that Terry would one day return to the field. Among other things, she would want to prove Merrick wrong.

"Unfortunately, a case has come up. Miller's handling it until you get back. Since Lake seems to be on the mend, I've asked Agent Lewis to book a Monday flight for you."

Don wasn't quite sure how to reply to that, but he made a sound that Merrick apparently took as consent.

"I'll see you tomorrow then. Oh and tell Lake that everyone's thoughts are with her."

"Will do," said Don just before Merrick hung up. For a reason that Don had yet to completely fathom, the Assistant Director was always very abrupt with him. Terry suggested it was because Merrick felt threatened by his presence in the office. He thought it might have something to with Charlie and the scene that had taken place between his younger brother and Merrick during the LA rapist case. Don shrugged, either way… At least Merrick stayed out of the way most of the time and didn't interfere with cases which meant that Don didn't have to play intra-office politics.

"You're Ms. Lake's next-of-kin, correct?" the same nurse asked as she accepted the phone back from him. Don nodded, not bothering to specify the relationship. The nurse opened a cabinet and took out a sealed brown bag, handing it over to him. "These are her personal effects that we took off of her when she came in," the nurse said. "I'm afraid her clothes are in evidence, so you'll need to get her a change of clothes before we discharge her." He thanked her and turned away, bag in hand.

As Don walked down the hospital corridor, he heard Terry's voice drifting out of her room. When he got to the doorway, he saw that she was in the middle of a phone conversation. Offering to give her privacy, he refrained from stepping into the room, but she nodded at him, asking him to come in. He complied, quietly setting the bag next to his chair. She returned her attention to her conversation.

"Look," she said firmly to whoever was on the other end of the line, "You're in South Korea; even if you could get furlough and book a flight, that's still at least twelve hours. And that's not counting the time you'd have to spend convincing your CO to give you leave. And both of us know there's no way that Mom and Dad could fly out at a moment's notice and Angie's nervous enough about me already. She'd have a breakdown the moment the Bureau called. When I cited—" She paused, listening to the strident protests from her older brother, William. Terry sighed, leaning back into her pillows, "Yes, Bill, I know, I know. I'm going to be fine, all right? I can take care of myself, so don't worry about me." That apparently was the wrong thing to say because it set off another burst of brotherly worry.

When that burned itself out (or shrunk down to dire threats), Terry said soothingly, "I'm okay, William. There's no need to worry Mom and Dad or Angie with the full details. And there's no need for you to fly out here. I'm not dying, all right? I'm fine and I have friends looking after me." She suddenly glanced toward the windows, a slight blush spreading over her face.

Don couldn't resist thinking of how beautiful she looked before mentally smacking himself upside the head. He wanted to make sure he really loved her, that he wasn't just infatuated with her.

'_You've put your emotions on hold for ten years,_' his inner voice reminded him. '_Isn't it time to explore what you do feel for her?_' He replied to himself, irritably, '_You can't analyze ten years of repressed feelings just like that._'

'_Well,_' said the pesky voice (who sounded, oddly enough, like Charlie when he was being patient with one of his students), '_Do you love her?_'

'_I'm fairly sure I do._'

'_Fairly sure?_' the voice echoed, as if asking for evidence or proof of his answer. It was like a defense attorney during cross-examination, trying to find the smidgen of hesitation in his testimony to create reasonable doubt.

'_What do you think that kiss was about!_' he argued back in annoyance. '_That wasn't a random act. It was deliberate, kind of. Yes, it was spur of the moment, but I do love her. I don't go around kissing random women._' A part of Don could not _believe_ he was having this conversation with himself.

'_What about Kim?_'

'_What _about_ Kim?_' he asked defensively.

'_Well, the two of you were engaged for several months, lived together for more. You were planning to be married!_'

'_Kim…I thought Kim would understand me and let me be myself. When Mom… When I moved back to LA, I really thought she would come, find some way to transfer with me. But things just didn't work out and…Well, we're both very career-oriented people._'

'_What about Terry? She's pretty career-oriented._'

'_I need to know. I just need to know. If she doesn't want to pursue this, I'll drop it. Besides, she has been married once before._'

'_And then got divorced,_' the voice reminded him. '_Do you think the two of you are compatible?_'

'_Yes. And don't ask me to explain it; I just know. Since when did you become the one that needs convincing that I should ask her?_'

'_Hey, I'm just helping you analyze yourself._' Don mentally shook his head. He needed to get some more sleep.

When Terry spoke again, her voice was still calm, "Bill, a lot of people are going to — Yes," her voice warned of thin ice ahead before her deadly sweet tone told her brother that he had gone too far, "Bill, do you remember when—" She listened while her brother made his hasty apologies or other comments, before she asked him to be careful and stay safe since this was his last tour, and hung up the phone. She groaned quietly and then waved off Don's concern.

"Do you have my cell phone?" she asked him. Don nodded and, fishing it out of the bag, gave it to her. She turned it on and scrolled through a few numbers before she hit dial. Terry spoke to her parents and younger sister, assuring them that she was fine and downplaying the severity of her injuries. Each call and the subsequent conversations seemed to drain her store of energy. After bidding her sister Angie goodbye, Terry closed her eyes and sank back into her pillows with a sigh. Don quietly removed the phone from her hand and placed it on the bedside table.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she sighed before she opened her eyes, "Bill just wasn't happy that I didn't list him or Mom and Dad or Angie as my next-of-kin. He wanted to argue about it." It was a good point. One of the many questions that Don had so firmly shoved to the back of his mind since Friday wiggled loose and popped out of his mouth before he had time to think it through, "Why?"

Terry looked at him, confused. Don hurried to clarify, "I mean, um, why did you specify me as your next-of-kin?" Somehow, while Terry had been calling her family, their hands had naturally interlaced themselves again.

"Well…" Terry seemed a little nervous. "A next-of-kin needs to be available to make any medical decisions that might arise and I, well, I didn't think that my ex would be that receptive to the idea. And you know my family: Mom and Dad panic easily, Bill's overseas with the Marines and Angie's still distant. You just — seemed like a logical choice. I mean," Terry shifted slightly, "we've known each other for so long and, in LA, you were perfect for a next-of-kin. But I —" she cut herself off, "It's okay with me if you want me to change it…" She looked away from him. Don squeezed her hand gently as he said quietly, "It's fine with me the way it is. I don't mind."

She turned to look at him, careful to keep her emotions off of her face. He had seen that schooled expression so many times in the past, especially before an interview with a suspect or when the verdict in a case came in. It gave nothing away to the world at large; but for him, it gave everything away. He knew it was how she protected herself emotionally if things proved to be disappointing.

"This probably isn't the best time to bring it up right now," Don began, studying their clasped hands as he spoke, "but… I wanted you to know. Just before you left, in the garage… That wasn't an accident, you know."

"I know," her voice sounded so frail. It was as if he had the power to make or shatter her hopes with a single word and it was a scary thought. He could not afford to make a mistake. Don thought carefully before he spoke.

"Terry… when Jasmine called me, I was… terrified." He swallowed hard; that confession had been difficult to make. He was too used to keeping his feelings to himself. But he couldn't turn back now. "I've been stubborn, I know. I was afraid that if I said anything, if anything happened to you afterwards… I couldn't live with not being able to protect you." A wry smile touched his lips slightly, "Not that you can't throw me to the floor in hand-to-hand, but still." He started rubbing his thumb against her fingers again, "After she called, I realized that—that I couldn't stay quiet. You deserve better. You know that we can't go on like this, not knowing for sure. So," Don drew in a steadying breath before he asked softly, "do you love me?"


	5. First Steps

Changes and Choices

Disclaimer: CBS owns Numb3rs. I don't.

Author's Notes: Thank you all for your kind reviews. Reading your praises is a highlight of my day as I prepare to return to school. It's been a joy to enter into the Numb3rs world and you have all been very supportive. Thanks again! (PS: I hope I have fulfilled your wishes for a speedy chapter posting. And there is a short epilogue planned for this story as well as a companion piece. There's nothing like a Numb3rs teaser for writer's block.)

* * *

Terry was silent, perhaps shocked at his audacity, and then replied neutrally, "What if I do?"

"Then that's good," Don answered quietly.

"Why?" she asked, tilting her head slightly in question. He caught his breath. Sunlight shimmered off of her hair, softening her features. At that moment, he knew why he had loved her for so long. She comforted him when cases went cold or situations went south; she helped him deal with his frustration at failed convictions and criminals who got away; she knew when to push and when to let go; she helped him reconnect with his family over the past few years. Her presence calmed him when things were rough. But above all, when he was around her, she accepted him as a human, as flawed as the rest of mankind and she didn't expect him to fulfill any role like Charlie or his father needed him to. She let him be himself, without any walls, without any expectations.

"Because I love you," Don confessed in a low whisper. Terry smiled then, the rare one that made butterflies dance in his stomach and warmed his heart.

"That's good," she replied just as softly, her emotional barriers tumbling down, "That's very good."

"Why?" he asked, a smile spreading across his lips. He already knew her answer, but he wanted to be sure. She caught the teasing tone of his voice and blushed becomingly.

"Because I love you," she echoed his words. Wanting to be closer to her, Don moved from his seat to actually sitting on her hospital bed. She leaned slightly towards him as he carefully wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Then she relaxed into him, their bodies fitting together like their linked hands, comfortably and naturally. Blissful silence filled the room as two lovers realized they had achieved the fruition of a cherished dream. They had done it, and there was no turning back.

"What now?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know." She craned her neck slightly to look at him. He shifted his position so she wouldn't have to stress her body.

"We're both career-oriented," she warned him.

"I'm willing to make some sacrifices," he told her gently. "This has gone on long enough."

"So am I." She tilted her head slightly. "We're going to be fodder for water cooler gossip."

"So? I don't think we're the first. I heard something about a couple up in New York who managed it. Even though regulations forbid supervisor-worker relationships, it isn't impossible." He thought back to how his relationship with Kim had skirted FBI policy. "You might have to transfer to another team, hopefully not to another office, but as long as I'm not your direct supervisor, there shouldn't be any trouble from the brass. Well, maybe some fuss from Merrick, but no one's going to listen to him. I hope."

She chuckled softly, "Both of our records are good. We've got a chance."

"Rumors are that the Director is thinking about forming another team in the office and your name's on the short list. You've put in a lot of time and done a great job with David. With the importance of this case, you've got a good shot at that position."

"Let's not get our hopes up," cautioned Terry. "You know about how accurate rumors are. Speaking of Merrick, what did he want?"

Don sighed, "He wanted to talk about your replacement; offered to let me interview them here."

"Ah, that should make your life interesting: an agent fresh out of the Academy."

"Thanks Terry." He gave her a look that told her he wasn't appreciative of her teasing. She brushed it off with a short laugh.

"Anytime, Don."

"He also thinks that you're permanently sidelined."

"Did he tell you that?"

"He basically implied it."

"Well, then we'll prove him wrong." Terry gave him an impish smile, one that Don couldn't help but return. His grin faded before he delivered the worst of his news.

"He wants me back in L.A. tomorrow."

"A case, right?" She snuggled closer to him as he tightened his hold around her shoulders. He read the disappointment that she tried to hide and decided to let it go without comment.

"I'm so sorry about this, Terry."

"It's okay, Don. You have a job to do. You don't need to stay here and watch over me. I'll be fine." Terry reached up to place a hand briefly on his arm, "I'll be back in Los Angeles before you know it."

"I know, but I don't know how I'll stand three months without seeing you."

"Well, we're going to have to." She shrugged slightly, "We've done it for one month already."

"True." '_But that one month had me missing you every day._'

"So… can you just rent a storage area for me and put my belongings there? Angie's going to fly out to LA next week and close up the apartment. But I still need someone to take my kitten. I was thinking about Charlie, since you're not home most of the time."

"You want Charlie, my at-times absent-minded genius brother, to help me take care of your cat?" He gave her a scrutinizing look. She chuckled softly, "It would be good for him and your father to have some sort of company around."

Don shook his head, "I can already see him wrecking havoc on Charlie's notes. Felines are notoriously independent creatures, you know."

"I know. Oh, and Don, it's a she. Her name is Daisy."

"Daisy," he repeated. "Right."

"What?" she asked him softly, a hint of playful defensiveness in her voice. "It's a perfectly fine name for a kitten and she's quiet. More likely than not, she'll spend the first week hiding somewhere to avoid getting stepped on."

"Hopefully not in the basement," Don murmured.

"What's in the basement?"

"A temperamental furnace," he replied.

"I see," she murmured, her eyes closing. Don realized that she was exhausted, her body still needing sleep to heal. He kissed her gently on the forehead. "I should let you rest," he told her, but received only her slow, steady breathing in reply.

'_It feels good to hold her like this, a little awkward since I have to avoid her IV line and everything, but when she's fully recovered…_' He smiled to himself. '_I could get used to this._' He closed his eyes as he savored the feeling of holding her, safe and secure, in his arms. This would have to last him three months. Without conscious thought, Don nodded off, still perched on the edge of the bed, his arm still wrapped around Terry who snuggled close to him.

* * *

Don woke with a jolt when a hand shook his shoulder. He blinked blearily. It took him a few seconds to realize where he was and recognize who had wakened him from a sound sleep. When he did, he calmly slid his numb arm out from behind Terry, carefully settling her back onto her pillows.

"Hi, Jasmine," he said casually, feeling his cheeks flush. It had been a long time since he had blushed after being caught with a girl. He suspected it would take some time before he could be fully comfortable with revealing his newfound relationship with Terry to the world.

"Hi Don," the other agent replied calmly, "Outside?" He nodded and followed her into the corridor. Henderson was still sitting in the hospital corridor, though now she was quietly conversing in another language with a man who didn't appear to be with the Bureau. Don noted that the man's attire (a green T-shirt and slacks) couldn't conceal any weapons.

"That's her husband," Jasmine told him quietly, catching his brief glance. "I reserved a seat for you on the five o'clock flight tomorrow. So by the time you get back to LA, you can get a full night's sleep before getting to work." She made no comment about the highly personal moment she intruded on.

"Thanks Jasmine." Don didn't just mean for her kindness in arranging everything for him, but also for her tact. She smiled and shook her head, "No need. My friends say it's a fraud case, so it can wait a bit." Then she placed a hand on his arm and lowered her voice, "And Don, you don't need to worry about Terry. We'll look after her. There is one thing you should know though; Henderson does go deaf at convenient times."

He nodded. She smiled again and stepped away. "I'll pick you up tonight then."

"I'll see you then," replied Don. After Jasmine left, he walked past the Henderson couple. His training allowed him to see the little gestures that passed between Henderson and her husband, the slight smile on his face, the amused sparkle in her eyes whenever she glanced at him, the unspoken communication that passed between the two. In a way, Don suspected that Terry and he were just like that. They had been friends and partners for so long it wasn't difficult for them to read each other's nonverbal cues. He also caught on to a level of awareness from wife and husband, as if the couple was used to unexpected events and reacting instantly. "Sweetheart," her husband was saying as Don passed by, "I'm the doctor here; trust me. The body shouldn't have been in rigor mortis. You've got the T.O.D. wrong."

"But that's impossible—" she replied. Don entered Terry's room, shaking his head at the morbid discussion.

"What happened?" Terry asked softly. He started slightly at the sound of her voice; she must have woken up soon after he had left the room. She was looking at him questioningly.

"Nothing," he answered. "Jasmine just came by to tell me that I fly out tomorrow at 5:00 in the afternoon."

"That shouldn't have you shaking your head."

"No, but your guard and her husband are having an interesting discussion about rigor mortis and bodies."

"Ah," she nodded, "that would be interesting." Terry waved her hand at the white envelope tucked into his jacket, its corner sticking out. "What is that?"

Though he did pull it closer, Don sat back down in his chair — partially because the nurse was in the room and she might frown upon the two of them sharing a bed and partially because it was easier that way to talk to Terry and not get distracted.

"Case notes," he said reluctantly. "Your case notes."

"Jasmine gave you the notes for the case I'm working on?"

"Yes."

"So you know," she stated. The nurse left the room, eager to give them their privacy.

"Yes." When he didn't say anything more, she asked softly, "Are you upset I didn't tell you?"

"No," he replied honestly, replaying the facts of the case through his mind. "You didn't need to tell me. It probably would have given me more sleepless nights than I usually have." He sighed, "I know you can take care of yourself. Hell, I've seen you do it. But… warn me if I start getting overprotective of you."

She smiled, "You've never been overprotective of me and I've always appreciated that."

"Terry…" he looked at her, concerned, "What happens in the field? We could get— _I_ could get distracted, even more than I usually am."

"And I _won't_?" she replied with an incredulous look. "We're just going to have to trust each other that we're going to work harder at being careful, for ourselves, for each other. Don't you already do that for Charlie and your father? Being careful so you go home every night to them?"

"Yeah," he reached up to touch her cheek, "but they don't work with me, take the same risks. I don't worry about them getting caught in the crossfire if a raid goes wrong." Her body posture stiffened as she turned her head away from him and he dropped his hand. "Well, maybe Charlie," Don didn't bother to repress the shiver of fear that still went through him each time he thought about Charlie nearly getting shot, "but I don't have to face it every day."

"I can take care of myself," she said steadily.

"I know," he replied quietly, "But that's never stopped me from worrying."

"And how long have you been worrying?"

"I don't know," he shrugged, thinking back and finding himself unable to pinpoint a time when his concern had crossed the line between partner-friend to lover. "Years?" he guessed, '_Ever since we dated over a decade ago?_'

"And in all that time, I've only ended up like this how many times?" '_Three times, not counting this time,_' he answered silently, '_And__ you've never told me about any of them._' He ignored the fact that he himself had been confined to a hospital room several times in his career. "You're going to have to trust me that I'll be as careful as you."

"But I know that being careful can only keep us so safe," he replied, trying to hold his agitation in check. "I've seen friends who've been more cautious than I am get hurt in the field."

"Don," she looked back at him, "I'm not saying that being careful will always bring us home, safe and sound. I was careful; I didn't have my gun with me because I thought it was safer. And look where I am right now. Things happen. But I'm tired of trying to predict them. We have time, right now, to be just us, just Don and Terry, two people who love each other. I don't know how we're going to work together after this, but we will figure out a way. I know we will. We've already figured out a way for the past year. We'll make it." She paused to take a breath before continuing on, "Because regardless of whatever happens, I will still love you and I will still worry about you every single day. But that won't stop me from letting you go to the office every day or from leading raids or arresting suspects. I can't do that to you. I know you worry about me — and I feel safe because of it — but that hasn't gotten in the way you've treated me. And…" She had to stop to catch her breath.

"And I don't think that's going to change too much," he said softly, his hand closing over hers again. '_I've always been protective of you from the start because I think I knew, somehow, that you would be special._'

"That's good," she said, slightly squeezing his hand. "As for not being able to protect me," she smiled sadly, "That's no one's job except God's. We both know the risks and the statistics, but that doesn't stop us from accepting them and getting on with our lives. Both of us know that Charlie can calculate the odds for our survival each time we go on raids. A lot of times, those odds are slim, but we've made it through them each time. The chances one of us being in this position again exist, are higher than most people, but I'm not going to ask you to stop doing something you love, and I know you won't ask me to stop either."

"I wouldn't," he answered, "Even if I did want to. It's who you are."

"It's part of you too," she replied. He sighed, "I'll need time—"

"We both will."

"—But it won't change my feelings."

"I know." Terry sighed, her posture relaxing, and she asked softly, "Hold me again?"

"Gladly," Don smiled as he reclaimed his perch on her bed and put his arm around her.

"So," she shifted her body into a more comfortable position, "tell me about how David's doing in the field."

"He's doing pretty well," Don began, in a low soothing voice. Terry closed her eyes as she listened to him and soon she drifted back off to sleep. He stopped talking when her breathing had deepened and slowed into a regular rhythm. They had made it through their first fight as a couple, if that did count as a first fight.

'_She's right,_' he thought with a sigh. '_I can't always protect her. And she doesn't _want_ to be protected. She's an FBI agent, for goodness' sake, more than capable of taking care of herself! I have to trust her, and stop doubting her. And I think that's going to take time for me to accept, time that I'm glad we have._' He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. '_But right now, we can just be Terry and Don, two people who are in love with each other; everything else—our jobs, fears, doubts, worries, the rules—all of that doesn't matter here. No one knows that we're supervisor and subordinate or cares if they do. And it helps that Jasmine and __Henderson__ are both turning a blind eye to our behavior._'

A part of him wondered idly why Jasmine and the young agent would ignore a blossoming relationship that was in clear violation of Bureau policy. But Don didn't want to think about that too much; he did not want to question their good fortune. He looked down at Terry, her features relaxed and unguarded. This was what he wanted to wake up to in the morning: a beautiful woman, cradled in his arms, full of life and laughter, an enticing mix of common sense and intelligence, with a love for him that didn't waver. He loved her and because of that, he would let her do as she wished, which meant she would put herself in the line of fire every day. '_At least I'll be there, standing right next to her. I'll have to accept that it's all that I can do. It will be difficult. But I'll make my peace with it — for both our sakes._'

Did he regret his decision of telling and asking her? The answer was an unequivocal negative. '_If, God forbid, one of us dies in the field, at least we'll know that we love each other now. And, like Terry says, we'll work harder to come home safe because of it. I don't know what's going to happen once she comes back to L.A., but…something just tells me everything will work out fine._'

* * *

He watched over her as she slept. For how long, he didn't know. Familiar footfalls in the hall made Don look up at the clock. It was six in the evening, nearly the end of visiting hours. Jasmine would arrive soon and he didn't want a repeat of her earlier visit. While she hadn't expressed disapproval (quite the opposite in fact) he didn't want to take advantage of her kindness. He looked down at the blond-haired woman who was using his chest as a pillow. Terry was sleeping soundly, her hand holding his.

"Sleep well, sweetheart," he whispered, gently untangling himself from Terry. She stirred slightly as he arranged the pillows to support her back, but didn't wake. Jasmine, watching them from the doorway, waited until Don was done and outside with her in the hallway before she spoke.

"Do you want to go back to the hotel or grab something to eat first?"

"I think I should catch up on some sleep."

"That's a good idea."

"Oh," Don reached into his jacket and gave her the envelope. "Thank you."

"You're more than welcome," replied Jasmine, tucking the packet into her purse. He asked a few vague questions about the progress of the case to which Jasmine gave equally vague answers to until they were in the car. They spoke for a few minutes about new security procedures for interrogations as well as Terry's outpatient care. As she drove him toward his hotel, Don said, "Thanks for shuttling me around like this."

"It's okay," she replied, turning a corner. "It gives me an excuse to drop by more often to check on her. Phone calls can only reassure me of so much. I — well, I'm glad she's awake." She bit her lower lip. Perhaps she thought she had said too much.

The pieces of a minor puzzle fell into place in Don's mind. From the first phone call to now, Jasmine had repeatedly let slip the simmering emotions she was holding firmly in check. The notes she had given him this morning told Don that she was the agent-in-charge. In such a time-restricted case, agents normally worked day and night at the office to close it, their attention utterly focused on bringing together all the needed evidence and witnesses to win a conviction. Weekdays and weekends merged into a frantic scramble to get everything ready for the final raids and arrests. And while their thoughts would be with their injured colleague, agents did not dare spare the time to visit. They knew that their coworker would want them to get the case closed as fast as possible rather than waste precious time holding an anxious vigil at the hospital. Jasmine's generosity and behavior — the guilt, the anger, the concern — all of it was unusual. Sacrificing hours of needed sleep, she had repeatedly spared time to check on Terry's condition in person and to brief him on what Terry had been working on. That led to one logical conclusion.

"You were there, weren't you?" he asked quietly. To her credit, the car only swayed slightly in the lane.

"On the other side of the glass," she answered just as softly, "yes."

"It's not your fault."

"I know,' she acknowledged with a nod, "but it's going to stay with me for a while." She left the conversation at that and he did not press. He knew the burden of having someone under his command injured, or worse, killed. The guilt took time to process and, eventually, absolution would be reached somehow. But it was not an easy road that could be quickly traveled. '_Thank God that Terry's only injured and she'll be all right. It will make Jasmine's guilt a lot lighter._' When Jasmine dropped him off in the parking lot, Don told her that he would take a taxi to the hospital the next day and thanked her again for her hospitality. As he unlocked his hotel room, he smiled to himself. '_It's hard to believe all that's happened in the past few hours. But at least I'll be sleeping soundly tonight._'

* * *

After showering and changing into more comfortable clothes, Don sat down on the freshly-made bed. He looked at the digital bedside clock and mentally calculated the time in L.A. It was early in the evening there. '_Do I want to check in with David or Miller, ask for the details of the case? Or should I call Dad and Charlie? Let them know Terry's awake?_' It wasn't a difficult decision for Don.

He picked up his cell phone and called his father's — no, Charlie's house. It would still take him some time to get used to the idea that his brother was a homeowner now. The phone rang once before it was snatched up.

"Hello?" Amita's voice on the other end of the line startled Don for a brief second. He had been expecting his father or brother to answer. It was Sunday evening and his family was usually home…alone.

"Hi Amita, it's Don."

"Hi," she answered. "How's Terry?"

"She woke up today," he told her. "She's going to be all right." Amita murmured a Hindu phrase which Don assumed to be a prayer of thanksgiving before saying, "Charlie's coming. He's just a little absorbed in some numbers. Hold on a moment," she said quickly. He heard her muffled call for Charlie to come to the phone before something was clattered in the background.

"Oh dear," Don heard Larry's voice say, "I'm so sorry about that, Amita." There was a thunk as she put the phone down on the table.

"No, no, it's okay Larry," said Amita quickly. "I don't carry anything breakable in my backpack."

"Even so, I should've—"

"Hello, Don?" Charlie's voice drowned out the background conversation. "How's Terry?"

"You can tell everyone Terry's fine. She's going to be all right."

"Good," Don could hear the tension draining out of his younger brother.

"So how are you guys?"

"Good, good," answered Charlie. "Agent Miller from your office asked me to run a few numbers for him and Amita came over to help."

"Uh-huh," said Don. Charlie protested, "Yes, that's why she answered the phone. And Larry came for some equations of his. And Dad's in the kitchen. Nothing's happening." There was a slightly hysterical edge to his voice. Don figured that before Larry showed up, their father had been giving Charlie hints about where his relationship with Amita should go after she earned her doctorate. Apparently Charlie didn't appreciate the help.

"You shouldn't let Dad—"

"I know, but he kicked me out," said Charlie in his own defense, "Said that I'd overcook the teriyaki sauce again."

"You did, you know."

"How was I supposed to know it wasn't supposed to look black!"

"And have the consistency of tar?" Don shot back.

"Okay, okay," Charlie surrendered, "but you've messed up in the kitchen too."

"Charlie, who is it?" Don heard his father ask.

"It's Don," answered Charlie. "Terry's okay." Alan took the phone from Charlie, "Donnie, how are you holding up?"

"I'm okay, Dad."

"Good," replied Alan. When his son didn't say anything, he prodded, "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Did you talk with her?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"And we're working things out."

"'Working things out,'" his father repeated. "I hope that's a phrase that means you'll be dating her once she gets back here." Don heard an exasperated sigh in the background. He figured that Charlie had either run into trouble with some numbers or he was currently very irritated with their father's matchmaking efforts.

"Dad, I don't think we're that far along yet. We're still trying to figure things out."

"Like what?"

"Like FBI policy, Dad. We're not supposed to date."

"Like I told your brother, 'What's more important? Learning or love?' Well in this case, I think it would be 'rules or love'…" For some reason, Don couldn't blame his younger brother for being annoyed.

"Dad, I just don't want to rush her into this. We're just taking it slow."

"Well son, David called to say that you'll be back here by tomorrow. I don't know if that's a lot of time for you to work things out. When is she getting discharged from the hospital?"

"Two weeks."

"Tell her that she's welcome to stay with us if she wants to."

"Um, Dad…" Don wasn't sure how his father would take this, "Terry can't fly for three months; the doctor won't let her, so she's staying here in Virginia for a while."

"Ah." There was a silence. "So have you worked out what's going to happen after three months?"

"No, Dad," said Don with a patient sigh. Alan took the hint and backed off, "Okay."

"I'm just calling to make sure everything's all right at home."

"Sure, sure, everything's fine Don, now that's Terry's okay. Don't worry about us."

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm quite sure. Now you take care of yourself. You sound tired. Get some rest."

"I will Dad. I'll see you guys tomorrow. Bye."

"Bye, Donnie." He ended the call, shaking his head as he did so. Everything was all right and normal at home. Now all he had to worry about was the fraud case. Don hoped it would be something straightforward, but with the advancement of technology these days, fraud was starting to become a headache. '_If it's a highly urgent case, David should be in the office. Or should I just call Miller for the details?_' After some pondering, he called David.

"Sinclair," answered David. From the background noise, Don guessed the young agent was probably with his sister's family. There were conversations and children laughing in the background.

"Hi David, it's Don and Terry's going to be all right," he said, anticipating the question. "She's woken up."

"Good. Um, could you hold on a second?"

"Sure." Don heard David cover the mouthpiece of his cell phone and caught bits and pieces of a muffled conversation between David and a woman. "Sorry about that," he said, uncovering the phone just as a child shrieked with joy in the background. Don winced. "Do you know when she's going to come back?"

"The doctor won't let her travel for three months, at least."

"Ah," David paused for a brief second before saying, "I guess you're calling about the case?"

"Yes…" He heard something slide shut and the background noise dropped to near silence. He guessed David had been in the backyard in the middle of a party and was now in the empty house.

"It isn't much to go on," said David. "We've got Charlie running some numbers for us, double-checking our accountants, but it looks like a pyramid-scheme of some sort. We're still working on the details." David continued to brief Don on the case, which was indeed complex and far-reaching. But David ended with, "The case came in late last night and Miller told us not to worry about it till tomorrow. It'll hold until you get back on Tuesday."

"Okay."

"Honey?" a woman's voice came in the background, accompanied by the sound of sliding metal. "Are you coming? Wendy's about ready to light the candles." David's voice became sheepish, "Don, I have to go…"

"Sure," Don didn't want to intrude, "I'll see you on Tuesday then. Bye."

"Bye." David quickly hung up. Don smiled slightly as he ended the call. '_I wonder if the 'love bug' has bitten everyone lately? That didn't sound at all like a brother-sister endearment. Then again, I've never asked for details about his social life. For all I know, she could just be a friend or a relative or a common-law wife._' He put his phone on the bedside table before he crawled underneath the covers. '_And I still need to figure out how to tell him about Terry and me, make it clear where our relationship is going. He already knows that we're planning something. I just hope half the office doesn't, particularly the half including __Merrick__. Of course, David isn't the type to let things slip._' Don closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, thinking about the future with contentment. His slumber was sound and undisturbed, graced by dreams filled with laughter, joy, family, friends and the woman he loved.

* * *

The next morning, Don packed his bags, grabbed a quick breakfast and checked out of the hotel. Quietly humming a cheerful tune, he hailed a cab and was on his way to see Terry. There were a few questioning glances thrown his way as he walked down the hospital corridors with his carry-on, but he ignored them. The ever-present guard spotted him as he came down the corridor. He gave Don a nod before returning his attention to the book in front of him.

"I'm sorry, Lake," another man's voice said contritely, stopping Don from entering the room. "If I hadn't…"

"If I hadn't been unarmed," he heard Terry say gently, "then I probably wouldn't be here. It's not your fault. No one saw it coming. I should have listened to Jasmine and brought my weapon with me into the room like I usually do. But I didn't. I don't blame you and you can't blame yourself. Jasmine says that you disarmed Alverez and restrained him in a professional manner, even though it was complete chaos in the office. You did the right thing, Kirsch, and the doctor says that I'll be fine."

"And I am very thankful for that," the man said gratefully. "I should get to the office now. The team wants to visit you later on, when things calm down a little."

"All right," Don could hear the smile in her voice, "I'll be here." Footsteps came from the room and Don saw a tall, blond-hair man walk out of Terry's room. As he passed in the corridor, he gave Don a nod of greeting which was returned. Don walked into the room, putting his bag in a corner, and was greeted by a sunny smile.

"Morning, sweetheart," he said in a low voice in case the guard outside wasn't discreet. He gave her a peek on the cheek. She laughed quietly and returned the gesture.

"How did you sleep last night?" she asked, her hand lingering on his cheek. He sat back down in his chair, replying, "Probably as well as you." He saw the case file folder resting on her blankets. "I take it you're getting restless?" he teased, nodding toward it. She looked down, a cloud drifting over her happy expression, "Yes, a little bit. But I also need to file a complaint as soon as possible."

"You're kidding." Don knew procedure, but having the injured party filing a complaint against her attacker before she was even out of the hospital was rather…unusual.

"I wish I was," she replied. "But they just want the paperwork out of the way. Right now Alverez is just being held on drug trafficking charges, not for this. The sooner I get this done, the sooner Dunne can schedule an arraignment and ask for remand. And Kirsch wanted to apologize." She looked away from him briefly. "He was in the room Friday night," she said unnecessarily. Don took her hands in his and drew her attention back to the present.

"Want to talk about it?" he asked softly. She shook her head.

"Not yet," she bit her lower lip briefly, "I don't remember much. Perhaps it's better that way." There was a vulnerability in her expression that Don had seen sometimes after they closed a hard case, the plague of 'what-if's that followed every case, the curse of hindsight. Before yesterday's events, he would have tried to draw her out of her emotional fortress with friendly concern, perhaps even going so far as to take her out for coffee. But never would he have allowed himself the liberty to touch her physically, for fear it would go much further than just a comforting hand on the shoulder. But now, Don finally felt the freedom to do what he always wanted. He reclaimed his position on her hospital bed and held her gently, murmuring soft reassurances as she cried in his arms. His eyes clouded slightly at the thought of 'what-if's that crowded his mind: '_What if __Henderson__ and Jasmine hadn't applied pressure so quickly? What if the paramedics had been caught in the three-way pile-up that had blocked the streets for ten minutes that night? What if the bullet had lodged just slightly to the right or left? What if she'd died?_' He hugged her close, reminding himself that those questions were non-issues now; there was no point in torturing himself with the past and unanswerable questions. There was only the present and the future to deal with, and, thankfully, both looked bright.

"Better?" he asked quietly when her sobs had lessened in their intensity, handing her a tissue. She nodded. Knowing her need for a diversion, He searched his mind for a topic that would distract her and perhaps make her laugh. Unfortunately, he couldn't come up with anything better than work-related topics. '_If we were real estate agents or corporate office workers, talking about work would be normal… considering we're not realtors or office workers, talking about our job is the last thing she needs._'

"What's going on in LA while I've been away?" asked Terry softly, once her voice was steady and her tears had stopped flowing. He smiled down at her, grateful that she supplied a safe and comfortable subject.

"Well… Larry says that the physics department at CalSci is in complete uproar…" The couple meandered through local political maneuverings and gossip, stopping briefly for Don to make a trip to the hospital cafeteria for lunch. They chatted idly about gardens and a new development on the outskirts of Los Angeles before they began to speculate about the creation of a new team in the LA office. Terry offered the names of a few senior agents who would be likely to take the position of team leader while Don brought her up-to-date on office politics and gossip.

"So, if you do get your own team…"

"That's purely hypothetical at the moment," she reminded him.

"Then let's go into the hypothetical," he said, hoping to keep her mind off of the past. "If you have your own team, they'd either have to expand the office by bringing in graduates, or reassigning agents."

"If they're reassigning agents, it'll be the junior ones. And if they do, I think you should keep David. I've taught him enough about interviewing and interrogations, but he needs a lot of time in the field, and I'm not going to be able to give him that. And he's been with us from the start; it'll be easier on him than having to adjust to someone else."

"Um, Terry… about David…" He tried to figure out a way to tell her about David's awareness about the two of them without giving her the wrong impression that he had openly revealed their developing relationship in the office. She must have read something in his face because she stated with amusement, "He knows."

"Sort of; he knows about the phone calls. But I'm going to take him aside after I get back and—"

"Explain a few things," she nodded. "I know."

"I called him yesterday and," Don went on to describe the conversation that had taken place. When he was done, Terry nodded, "He's engaged. Diana Johnson. But I've never met her. She's a businesswoman from what he's told me."

"Mmm," Don nodded, storing the information away.

"Don, can I ask about Kim?" He couldn't see her face, but he felt the tension in her body as she asked the softly spoken question. He wrapped his arms around her.

"Kim," Don sighed, resting his chin on her head. "We were both lonely, I guess, and we mistook companionship for a relationship. It was nice to come home with someone, to have company at night when we couldn't sleep. We cared about each other, but even then I always put work first. I don't think she understood why."

"You thrive on it," whispered Terry and Don nodded.

"And my family — well, I never really mentioned how smart Charlie is to her, so of course she didn't understand. I just kept telling her reasons to put off meeting them. I guess I was afraid of how she would react when she met Charlie for the first time. You know how clueless he can be. And we weren't talking much to each other either.

"When Mom got sick… she tried to transfer to California too. But it was too soon after she came to Albuquerque and the Bureau turned down her request. I got caught up with trying to take care of everybody while doing my job and things just fell apart. We couldn't keep up a long distance relationship. Neither of us were prepared to invest. She didn't want to quit the Bureau and move to LA; it was her career and she wasn't ready to give that up. I can understand that. And I couldn't leave Dad and Charlie, not while Mom…" He broke off. Terry squeezed his hand in sympathy. It would take time before Don could talk normally about his mother's passing.

"I was surprised when I heard about her joining the Secret Service. It didn't seem like her." Terry nodded. The Secret Service and the Treasury Department usually collected all the FBI-wannabes who had failed the stringent entrance tests into the Academy. It was rare that an agent left to join Treasury. Those who did were usually those who had been injured in the line of duty and unfit for the field, but still wanted to continue their careers. After all, Treasury agents dealt with monetary issues, not kidnappings, serial killers, or terrorists…usually. "I thought it was a mistake, a different Kim, until the Hughes case. I was shocked when she walked into the briefing room. But…" Don shook his head, "Sometimes it was like I turned around and she was a completely different person and I guess I did that to her too. She even told me once that she couldn't put up with my quirks. In the end, I don't know if it was because I didn't pay enough attention to her or if it was the little things." He chuckled lightly, "I used to drive her crazy with how I organized things. We had to have separate CD racks and bookshelves. The breakup was mutual, like I've said before, but it was more her actions than mine. Not that it's completely her fault. I didn't have time to worry about someone else, not then, and I just decided to let her go." He grinned at Terry. "Guess it was the right decision." She nodded and didn't say anything, clearly thinking. He let her ponder what he said undisturbed for several minutes before he exercised his own curiosity.

"How did you meet your ex?" asked Don, carefully venturing out onto previously forbidden ground. He only knew that the divorce had been a highly vicious affair; as a result of that, he had always avoided asking her about it.

"It was a chance meeting, really. There was a case," she laughed lightly, but he didn't miss the sadness in her eyes, "that was the first time I met him, as a witness. A few months after the case closed, we bumped into each other at the supermarket and he asked me out. Jake claimed that he had fallen for me the first time we met. And it had been a while since a man had taken an interest in me. Before I knew it, we were married.

"Jake was nice to me, in the beginning. I think he was thrilled at the idea of having a wife who could take care of herself. I was…flattered. But then he found out that being married to me meant that I wasn't home or available a lot of the time. And when I was, I was unapproachable. He wanted someone who would comfort him about his stressful day at work and I just couldn't do that; not when…" Don nodded; he knew why. "He…He didn't like it when I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't go back to sleep. He complained it kept him up too. The first few months he comforted me, but as things got worse between us… He started coming home late at night; I didn't notice for weeks until our anniversary. The caseloads had been hectic and I needed a break. I took that evening off, went home early to surprise him." She sighed. "He didn't come home until eleven that night. He brushed it off as just overtime, but I got uneasy.

"A few months later, we went to his company party and I noticed how one woman in particular kept eying him. We got separated in the crowd. I was exhausted and I wanted to go home early. So I went looking for him. I found him in the gardens, with that woman, necking," she swallowed hard. It was still a painful memory for her. Don hugged her a little tighter. "I just stood there in shock. I had been suspecting it, but I didn't really think it was actually true. A man came up to me then and wondered aloud how long it would take for Jake to divorce his wife and marry his mistress. I asked if he knew how long the affair had gone on and he said for at least half a year. _Half a year_ and I didn't even know. I had to find out from a complete stranger."

"So you divorced him," said Don softly, finishing her story for her. She nodded, "There were a lot of accusations from him." She chuckled bitterly, "He even accused me of having an affair with my partner, never mind that McClellan treats me like a daughter and is old enough to be my father."

He hugged her in silent sympathy while vowing, '_I will never hurt you like that, I swear._' She gave him a knowing look and a slight grin that promised him that she would never knowingly hurt him. She glanced at the clock that hung on the wall, its quiet ticking steadily marking the hours and minutes before they would be separated again, but this time, only physically, not emotionally.

"It's three," she said quietly. He nodded, not moving from his spot. Time had flown.

"Don…" Her voice was gentle, "We've still got time."

"I know," he answered quietly as he shifted his position, placing her back on her pillows. '_We still have time to sort out all the details._' His eyes met hers. So far, everything that had happened between them were words, not actions. She had nothing to hold onto as proof of what had transpired in the last few days. '_FBI regulations state—_' one part of his mind began, only to be cut off with a memory of Charlie's voice, "_You know what Dad said to me when he met Amita yesterday? He told me to screw the rules and ask Amita out. When I told him I couldn't, he asked me what was more important? Learning or love? Then he asked me if he could date her himself. Dad with a woman less than half his age! I mean, there's nothing wrong with it; it's just… I really wish Dad wouldn't play matchmaker sometimes._"

'_So what's more important to you? Love or following the rules, Don?_' he asked himself as he carefully took her into his arms. She wrapped her arms around him in a chaste hug. As she began to draw away, his mind issued the ultimatum, '_You have to choose. What's more important?_' He chose.

Don gently pulled Terry close to him again. A slight smile touched her lips when she realized he had in mind something a little less chaste. '_To hell with the rules…_' he thought just before their lips touched. It was everything he remembered and more. She moaned quietly and he pulled back slightly, afraid that he had hurt her. But he saw her smile tenderly at him, silently reassuring him that he wasn't hurting her, and he brought her close to him again.

"I love you," Don murmured after they broke apart to breathe, his arms supporting her back and her arm around his neck.

"I love you too," Terry whispered, a hand caressing his cheek as he gently lowered her back onto her pillows. "Stay safe."

"Take care of yourself," he said softly as he reluctantly pulled away from her.

"I will…." She settled back against her pillows and watched him prepare to leave her room. His departure was delayed by one more swift kiss and then he was gone to catch a flight back to Los Angeles.


	6. Epilogue

Changes and Choices

Disclaimer: CBS owns Numb3rs. I don't.

Author's Note: Thank you all for your patience, support, and enthusiasm as I wrote this piece. It was completely unexpected and is deeply appreciated. I would also like to include a special 'thank you' to MMarchand.

Hooray for the first complete season of Numb3rs! And now, onto the closing scenes…

* * *

His cell phone rang precisely at five o'clock on Friday night, as it always did now. Don, still at work, blindly reached for the ringing device. He didn't even glance at the display screen as he answered; he knew who was calling. Careful to keep his face impassive as his colleagues hurried about around him, he leaned back in his chair and allowed himself to take a break from his most recent case and the resultant pile of paperwork. 

David, walking past his boss' cubicle, couldn't quite conceal the small grin he had on his face. The younger agent knew who was on the other end of the line, but he would never tell anyone else. He had too much respect for his two mentors to do that without their knowledge or permission. When they were ready, they would make their move. He went to pour himself a cup of coffee, and maybe then, spare a few minutes to call his fiancée.

"Eppes," said Don. On the other end of the line, he could hear soft music playing. It would be just like Terry. He could already guess that she was curled up on the couch, phone in one hand, a cup of hot chocolate in the other, a historical novel or the National Geographic in her lap, a few pillows bracing her back. Jasmine would either still be at the office or in the kitchen making dinner, having chased her friend out to rest some more after a day's work in the field.

"Hi, Don." He could see the sunny smile on her face as she greeted him.

"Hi, Terry," he murmured quietly, but just as pleased to hear her voice again. "How are you doing?"

"Good," she replied, "Meeker says I'll be cleared for travel soon." The unofficial couple had rejoiced privately when Terry had returned to light fieldwork duties a month ago. It meant that instead of being confined to the office and Academy grounds all day, she could go out onto secured crime scenes and interview witnesses; in other words, the only things she was forbidden to do were leading raids and chasing after suspects. Once the Bureau's own doctors gave her a clean bill of health, she could return to a normal life and career without restrictions.

Thankfully, her recovery had progressed rapidly without any complications and exceeded even Meeker's best hopes. Don kept in touch with Jasmine, who told him all the things that Terry wouldn't bring up in their weekly conversations, such as the fact that she still needed to stop and catch her breath occasionally or that her injuries tended to ache after she sat down for long periods of time. Because of her habit to downplay the fragility of her health, her Virginian colleagues watched her closely to prevent her from overexerting herself. Terry wasn't used to being protected by others; however, she was handling her colleagues' concerns with grace. But besides the little things, she was indeed fit for active duty as an FBI agent, something everyone was grateful for.

News of her reassignment to Los Angeles had reached Don's desk earlier in the week, along with the word that she would eventually become a team leader. The official promotion was postponed until she completed the necessary paperwork (which, as he recalled it, was a pain) and a mentoring period when an experienced team leader would help her out with any questions she might have in her new position. He wasn't assigned to her for this task, which meant that they were in the clear when it came to Bureau regulations dictating supervisor-subordinate relations. Both of them had agreed to wait about a week once she returned before they started making covert 'overtures' to each other at the office, being a little more playful, a little more relaxed, maybe even going so far as being seen leaving the office together, but arriving separately the next day.

But as she was still away, he hoped that none of his coworkers were listening to this private conversation. Don wasn't ashamed of his relationship with Terry, but he was fairly sure that Merrick would have a fit if he found out about it, not to mention about how it could possibly taint both of their careers. It was better to play it safe, for both their sakes. The last thing Don wanted was to get Terry fired or having her receive a reprimand for inappropriate behavior before being transferred to the middle of nowhere. He was sure that some people would find it difficult to believe that the romance and courtship had _not_ started (officially) until after he was no longer her supervisor. Sometimes, the truth was hard to swallow.

There were times when he wondered how thick he was not to have noticed the way she tried, and failed, to distance herself from him at work. Or the way he misinterpreted her glances when they were doing paperwork, taking concern for him as irritation at the amount of paper-pushing they had to do. '_Granted, she's good at hiding her feelings._' But, for him, Terry's voice revealed more about her emotional state and thoughts than anything else. So when he heard a lack of finality to her last sentence, he knew that there was something bothering her. Don probed gently, "But…?"

"But the cases aren't wrapped up yet," she confessed quietly. While the original case that had called her to Virginia had taken up the majority of her time for the past four months since she was released from Benson Memorial, Terry had taken on several other cases to help ease the caseloads of her colleagues. As her recovery progressed, she had gradually cut back in preparation for reassignment, but she still had three active cases on her hands. "I really want to come back, Don. But I'm still in charge and…"

"I understand," he reassured her, and he did. Like him, she didn't like to leave unfinished business. He had accumulated a small drawer of cold cases from his career as an FBI agent that he still took out every year and reviewed, looking for clues he might have missed before or hints that could turn the cold trails hot again. "How did your testimony go today?"

"Good; the defense made a few unexpected moves, but Alverez doesn't have a case, not after Dunne showed them the security tape."

"How long, do you know?"

"Dunne says it'll end soon, within the next two weeks at the most. As soon as the verdict comes in, I'll start making arrangements."

"Hey," he said gently, "call me afterwards, okay? If you need to talk."

"Okay."

"Don't worry about the time," he tried to sweep away any thoughts that would prevent her from calling him when she needed his support the most.

"All right," she agreed before changing the topic to her replacement in the L.A. office. "So, how's Lin doing?"

"Not bad," he replied. "She's hardworking and thinks fast…but very quiet. It's hard to get her to talk sometimes. And she's focused… too focused."

"She blocks out her surroundings?" They both knew how dangerous the ability could be. It was great when trying to write a report in the middle of a busy, noisy office, but when out in the field, it became a hazardous liability. When a law enforcer stopped paying attention to what was going on around them, they risked being assaulted, or worse.

"Yeah," Don nodded, even though he knew Terry couldn't see. "It doesn't happen often when we're out in the field. But I'm worried that it might on an unsecured scene."

"How long has she been in L.A.? Two months?"

"Roughly."

"She's probably going through a lot of stress in her personal life right now. Learning to drive in L.A. is — well, you know why I don't drive. She's still settling down, right?"

He sighed, "Yeah, I've let it slide for a while. I'll give her another week or two to get her act together, then I'll talk with her."

"Maybe you should have David do it; from what you've said before, you might intimidate and stress her out more if you do it."

"All right…"

"How's Daisy?"

"Charlie and Amita are absolutely in love with her. It scares me sometimes to hear the two of them cooing over your cat."

"How's Charlie handling it?" He knew she was _not_ referring to Charlie's role as pet-sitter.

"Pretty well," he answered. "There haven't been any major faux pas. Dad's the one who's nervous about the whole dating thing. First us, now Charlie and Amita. Dad, on the other hand…"

"I take it his date last week didn't go particularly well?" said Terry sympathetically.

"Well, if you're comparing it to the duck lady," replied Don to a peal of laughter from Terry, "it went superb. But I don't think Dad was really interested. He's not really into vintage motorcycles."

"Vintage motorcycles?" she echoed, surprised. There was a pause before she asked, "Don, _where_ does your father meet these women?"

"I have no idea," he replied honestly, laughing quietly with her. He failed to notice the amused 'about-time' looks that several of his colleagues exchanged as they passed by his cubicle. As their chuckles faded, a comfortable silence fell on the conversation.

"Don?"

"Yeah?"

"I miss you."

"I miss you too."

"Agent Eppes!" someone in the office called for his attention. He looked up from his pen-tapping. From the way the agent was frantically waving a manila folder around in the air, there might finally be a break in the Uranus Securities fraud case. He would have to go.

"Terry, I —" Don began reluctantly.

"I know," he could hear her smile, "I heard. Sounds like Anderson's happy. Be careful."

"I will," he replied, repeating his promise, as he did every week now. "You too."

"I will," she answered and he knew she would be. Both of them knew how lucky they were last time and neither of them ever wanted to receive a phone call from a stranger — or worse, a visit from their supervisor — because one of them hadn't been careful.

"Love you," he mumbled quietly. Don heard Terry laugh happily before she replied, "I love you too. Now, go."

"Bye."

"Bye schoolboy," replied Terry, a teasing smile in her voice, before they ended the call. Don flipped his phone shut, unable to completely hide the happy grin on his face. He just hoped that his coworkers would attribute it to the news of an impending break in the case.

* * *

Two months later… 

"— Flight 47 from Seattle is arriving at Gate 25—"

"British Airways Flight 281 for London is departing at 12:45—"

"—Ms. Lydia Carter, to the information desk."

"Welcome to LAX International Airport, please—"

Don waited patiently in the airport terminal, watching planes taxiing across the concourse. Passengers passing by him glanced at the FBI badge on his belt. Some exchanged nervous glances, questioning his presence. Others nodded and smiled at him, silently thanking him for his service to the public. More than a few women gave him appreciative looks. He ignored them; his attention was on searching for a petite blond-haired woman who was arriving in a few minutes. '_Six months…_'

"Terry!" he called out when he spotted her in the crowd. A smile lit up her face when she saw him and her steps quickened. Weaving his way through the passengers until he was face-to-face with her, Don pulled her close and kissed her, hard. Her carry-on bag fell to the ground, utterly forgotten as she wrapped her arms around his neck and returned half a year's worth of suppressed passion.

"God, I've missed you," he said breathlessly when they finally broke apart. She laughed, "I noticed."

"I love you," he said quietly, looking down at her.

"I know," she smiled.

"Marry me?"

"One day, maybe, probably, yes," she replied, amusement in her voice. He grinned.

"Good," he said, picking up her dropped carry-on bag and wrapping his free arm around her waist. Content and happy, they headed for the airport exit. She was finally home and it was time to start exploring what they had.


End file.
